


City of Angels

by deathofsanity



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M, and then improvised the rest, city of angels, city of angels au, i pretty much copied the dialogue word for word, you do not have to have seen the movie to get this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-01 20:59:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8637847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathofsanity/pseuds/deathofsanity
Summary: “If you'd known this was going to happen, would you have done it?”His answer required no thought. “I would rather have had one breath of his hair, one kiss of his mouth, one touch of his hand, than an eternity without it. One.”





	1. Chapter 1

**City of Angels**

**DeathOfSanity**

 

**_Summary: City of Angels AU. "You knew there would always be a spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person had died for no reason."_ **

 

_“If you'd known this was going to happen, would you have done it?”_

_His answer required no thought. “I would rather have had one breath of his hair,_

_"one kiss of his mouth,_

_"one touch of his hand,_

_"than an eternity without it._

_“One.”_

  
  
  
  


AN: Because all I can see when I watch the movie is Dean and Cas. So I looked it up, and was mesmerized that I couldn't find anyone else who had done this. I basically just wrote the story down exactly and changed the characters. I also added some stuff and changed some stuff in order to try and keep them in character (although, lets be honest, Maggie and Seth's characters are already pretty much identical to Dean and Cas – I'm honestly impressed by the similarities). And just for your information, the angels are actually pretty cool in this story. Not total dicks. Hope you like it.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_I love you without knowing how or when or from where_

_I love you straightforwardly without complexities or pride_

_I love you because I know no other way than this_

_So close that your hand upon my chest is my hand_

_So close that when your eyes close, I fall asleep_

 

 

Chapter 1

 

 _I – I don't really pray, but if you could just... help me out here? I promise..._ A woman, Carol, with straight, dyed blonde hair, sleep-ruffled and exhausted, stood next to a child's bed, holding tightly to a thermometer and squinting at it in the darkness of the room. _105\. 105? Oh my god!_ She cast a glance down at her daughter, lying still on the bed in her yellow footie pajamas, and frantically ran to the bathroom and turned on the cold water faucet in the bathtub.

 _Okay. Okay. Run a bath, call the doctor. Just run a bath – get her into the bath._ She left the water running and went for the phone. _Dr. Carter, 655... Oh. He won't be there._

_Thermometer. What is a thermometer? Mercury? How does it even work? Maybe I can page him?_

Carol went back over to the little girl to find her reaching out a hand to thin air, and brushed her daughter's hair back, wincing at the waves of heat pouring off her head. "Susan. Susie. Mommy needs you to get up now."

"Cold!" Susie whined pitifully, eyes barely open,

"I know. Hang on, hang on." Carol easily lifted her daughter off the bed and carried her into the bathroom.

"Cold!" Susie shrieked, flailing weakly as she was placed in the tub.

"It just feels cold because you're so hot," Carol tried to console the girl. But it did nothing, and Susie's eyes rolled up into her skull. "Susan? Stay with me, Susan. Susan!"

o0o

"Has she been disoriented?" asked the doctor, as he, two nurses, and the girl's mother wheeled Susie's bed through the halls of the hospital. "Confused?"

Castiel followed them.

"She said that she saw a man in her bedroom," Carol answered, frowning at the doctor.

Susie gazed up at Castiel. "Are you cold?" she asked him in a weak, high pitched voice.

He smiled and shook his head.

She kept her eyes on the him all the while as she was wheeled through the corridors.

"Okay, swing it."

"Move it, people."

"Is the room clear?"

"Yes, it's clear."

The doctors and nurses got Susie hooked up to monitors and life support. The pace was harried, and Carol stood off to the side with her hands clutched in her shirt.

"Give her pressure."

"Let's give her O 2 . Ten liters."

"Tap her right away."

"How's her breathing?" the doctor asked the nurse.

"No pulse or rhythm."

Susie's head fell to the side, to stare directly at Castiel where he knelt. He smiled as her eyes closed of their own accord.

A second later, Susie stared up at Castiel from where they stood outside of the room, watching through the glass as the doctors and nurses continued to work on Susie's now lifeless body. "Are you God?" she asked, her voice one of curiosity.

"No." She continued to stare. "My name is Castiel."

"Where are we going?" Her voice, innocent, unafraid.

He answered honestly. "Home."

"Can Mommy come?"

Castiel followed Susie's gaze back to the girl's mother, who had only just come out of her shock at what had just happened, and was wailing inconsolably at her daughter's bed.

"No."

"She won't understand."

"She will. One day."

As they left the Earthly realm, Castiel the angel and Susie the little girl, Castiel took her hand. "Can I ask you something?" he inquired.

"Yes," she answered, gazing upward.

"What did you like best?"

She considered only for a moment, a small grin on her face, "Pajamas."

o0o

"She definitely knew what she liked."

Castiel looked up from his "book of favorite things" and turned his gaze to Balthazar.

"Pajamas?" Balthazar asked, part confused, part awed.

"Flannel," Castiel tilted his head in wonder, "with feet."

"Pajamas," Balthazar stated again, looking around at the city for a moment, before turning back to Castiel. "Excellent choice. What else?"

Castiel grinned happily, excited as he always was to share his experiences with his most constant companion. He referred to the book. "In the elevator of the Bradbury Building, a man touched a woman's bare skin by accident... but it made her turn and look at him in such a way..."

A soft look crossed Balthazar's face. "And they...?"

"Yes," breathed Castiel.

His companion let out a deep chuckle. "It was a good day."

They sat above a freeway, the road sign upon which he and Balthazar rested indicated 3 miles to Los Angeles. Castiel glanced down at the freeway below, the cars driving past, some towards home, others elsewhere. "Do you ever wonder what it would be like?" He knew his companion would not look down upon him for this.  "Touch?"

"No," he replied.

"Yes you do."

A flash of a smirk crossed Balthazar's face, as though the notion of touch were a naughty thing, and they would get in trouble if they were heard. "Occasionally. Yes."

Castiel returned his conspiratory look, and said it again, like a child trying out a bad word. "Touch."

o0o

Balthazar accompanied him to the airport, the air traffic control station.

The man looked stressed, but it wasn't just the pressure of the job. _$20,000 at twenty-one percent. Pay it off with another card at fourteen percent._ Castiel laid a hand on the man, helping him to focus. _Aw, shit,_ the man thought, noticing a reading and relaying the vital information into his radio. ‟Federal 595 heavy, slow immediately to match preceding aircraft. Over.″ _Jesus, wake up! Wake up!_

Castiel and Balthazar spent the rest of the night in the city, going wherever they were needed. It was their lot.

"The little girl asked me if she could be an angel," Castiel relayed to Balthazar as they crossed to a lifeguard house at the beach the next morning. Castiel was a bit of an oddity among the other angels gathered there, the tan trenchcoat sticking out from the typical black attire of the host.

Every dawn and dusk, since the beginning of time, the angels gathered at sunrise and sunset.

"They all want wings."  

"I never know what to say," Castiel admitted.

"Tell them the truth. Angels aren't human. We were never human."

"What if I just... make her a little pair of wings out of paper?"

"Tell her the truth," his companion scolded gently.

"I told her," Castiel replied, decidedly petulant.

"How did she take it?"

"She said, 'What good would wings be if you couldn't feel the wind on your face?'"

At the first light, in the brilliance of the sunrise peaking out over the horizon and shining out over the gathered angels, the choirs of heaven could be heard singing with majestic glory of the grace of God, as with all sunsets and sunrises since the world began. Castiel closed his eyes, and let it wash over him.

 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

 

"... _on the 101, through downtown L.A., no delays..."_ " Dean caught a snippet of the traffic report drifting out the open window of a car as he passed by on his bicycle, riding gloves on and sweatpants rolled up so the ends wouldn't get caught in the spokes.

As he rode by a construction site, one of the workers could be heard cursing up a storm. "Shit! Jesus!" Dean Winchester zipped past, grateful he wasn't stuck in traffic as well, honking horns and pissed off drivers were never a good start to the day.

Upon arrival to Memorial Hospital, Dean circled around to the back where the kitchens were housed and locked his bike to a guardrail. He took the employee only entrance and his beeper went off as he wound his way around cooks and janitors to get to the sixth floor. _Patient in Prep,_ it said. He speed-walked the rest of the way to the men's locker room, quickly changed out of his sweats and into a set of blue scrubs, and then headed off towards the OR.

He strode into the antechamber outside of the surgical suite.

"What do we got?" Dean asked, studying the heart scan his protege Dr. Jo Harvelle already had up on the screen.

She answered, "50-year-old had a huge anterior wall MI this morning. Collapsed while jogging. Paramedics resuscitated him, but his EKG's pretty ugly. He's hypotensive," Jo pointed out the reading.

Dean focused his gaze on the white and gray image of the patient's heart before him. "This diagonal looks tight," he commented, indicating the area. "Who cathed him?"

"Rosenberg."

Dean nodded, "Be right in," and made to enter the scrub room, but Jo stopped him.

"The patient wants to meet you."

Dean turned to give her an incredulous look, but Jo just shrugged.

Seeing no reasonable excuse to deny the request, Dean shrugged himself, and snatched a surgical mask, holding it to his face as he entered the O.R. "He's pretty out of it," one of the nurses informed him.

The anesthesiologist pulled away the O2 mask from the patient's face, and said gently, "The doctor's here."

Dean looked into the bleary eyes for a moment. The patient, Dean had forgotten to ask for a name, looked back, almost as if he were searching for something. But what? Assurance? Calm? Dean's confidence that the surgery would go well, and that he would make it through to the other side. That he would see his family again. Did he have a family? Dean wasn't sure.

He didn't know what he saw, but it didn't matter. The patient's eyes began to drift closed and Dean left the OR to wash up.

o0o

"We're just gonna cool to 32º today," Dean announced to the surgical staff, as they got underway. Dean had gotten the patient's – Tom – chest open and the patient onto bypass without any complications, and other than the odd request from earlier, the operation was nothing out of the ordinary.

"Sucker," Dean requested, as it became harder to see inside the chest cavity. Once that was cleared up, he looked at the one of the nurses, Ash, and said, "Jimi."

Ash pushed the button on the boombox with a flourish, and a smooth guitar filled the room.

"Vein," he said to Jo, who complied, placing a clamp on the spurting blood.

"Kid started walking," Jo informed Dean conversationally. "Three unassisted steps."

Dean remembered the little cretin. Her name was Ellen, named after Jo's mother, and she'd bitten him the last time they were in the same room. She was a lot like her grandma. "You get it on video?" he asked.

"I wasn't even there."

"Aww. You've failed as a mother already. How does that feel?"

She responded with a glare. "Rather be there than staring at your ugly mug all day."

Dean laughed.

The surgery only lasted four hours, but Dean felt like he could go on forever. It was a good day, things were going well, and after the operation, he had plans to have lunch with Sam. For even though he  worked in the same hospital as his brother, they saw very little of each other. Sam, being a pediatrician, and Dean in thoracics, the crossovers of their specialties were far and in between.

Dean saw Ash toss a People magazine into the biohazard bag, and listened as two of the orderlies discussed politics and who was going to win the election coming up.

The end of the operation came about easily – it was nothing Dean hadn't done a hundred times. Dean nodded to Ash to cut the music, and began unclamping the smaller capilaries, pleased to see them return to normal capacity. "Retrograde on," the nurse – Brenda – complied. "Let's come down to half flow. Give me a little volume."

"Down to half-flow," the bypass operator – Benny – replied. "Here's your volume."

"Ready to come off?"

"Ready."

"Let's come off."

"We're coming down."

"We're clamped and off bypass," said Jo, and the room abruptly filled with silence. The type of deadly hush doctors have nightmares about. Everyone in the room had their gazes fixed on the EKG monitor. It showed a flat line. _Come on. Come on_ , Dean thought. _You can do it, Tom._

One bleep. Then another. A collective sigh passed through the occupants of the room as the patient's heart started beating again, and someone turned the music back on. They began closing. Dean and Jo were wrist deep in sewing up, when Ash said, "Oh, shit."

Never a good sign, when the guy with the equipment tray says that.

Dean turned around. "What are you missing."

"Sponge."

"Bummer," said Jo, pausing mid-stitch.

After a beat, the entire staff bent to look on the floor. Better on the floor than in the patient.

"Got it!" Ash said with relief, and everybody stood up again.

They finished closing, and Dean had Brenda help him out of his surgical gown. "Thank you, everybody," he said.

Nurse Ruby stepped into the room, holding a white phone, the cord swinging from it's base like a jumprope. "Presbyterian's on the line."

Dean nodded to her, and turned to Jo. "His rhythm will be irritable," and went to take the call.

Back in the room, Jo turned to Benny. "He's getting good, huh?"

"Yeah, he's getting that attitude too."

" _Getting_ an attitude?"

They were cut off as a shrill alarm sounded throughout the room. "Shit," said Ash. "V-tac."

"Christ!" Jo held out a hand to Brenda, "Paddles!"

"Kill the music," demanded Benny. "Get him back."

Brenda swung the door open for Dean, who looked in the room, adrenaline sprouting in his chest. He dropped the phone and hurried back in.

He kept his uncovered hands on his hips, giving orders. "Charge to 200."

"Charging 200," Jo replied

"Clear!" said Jo, and the paddles emitted a loud _Zap!_ No change. "V-fib. No pressure."

"You give him lidocane?" Dean asked, and Brenda answered.

"It's gone in."

"Buzz him again. Paddles at 300."

_Zap!_

"Still nothing."

"Start compression." Jo readily obeyed. "Kill the alarm!" Dean ordered. After a moment of Jo pressing down on the patient's freshly stitched up chest, he held up a hand. "Hold up. It's not working." He held out his arms to Brenda who had another gown at the ready. "Got to open him. How long to go back on?" he glanced at Benny, who's hands were already going at lightning speed, working to replace all the tubes and get the bypass back up and running.

"It'll take me ten minutes to set up," he answered, voice strained with concentration.

"Come on!" Jo exclaimed, repeatedly glancing between the patient and the monitors. "Nothing."

"Knife," Dean held out a newly gloved hand to Ash, and was given a scalpel. He quickly cut through the stitches they'd just placed, and used the rib-spreader to re-expose the heart. "Internal paddles," he ordered, and found them in his hand less than a second later, covered in insulation jelly. "Charge to 20."

"Ready," said Brenda.

"Hit it."

Nothing. No movement, no beeping.

"Go to 30," Dean said. "Hit it."

"No response," supplied Jo.

"Benny, I need to get back on bypass here."

"Give me seven more minutes."

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

Castiel watched as Dean Winchester dropped the paddles and stuck his own hands into Tom Balford's chest, not giving up without a fight. Castiel found it admirable, that this human felt so strongly the hurt of others. Even a patient he didn't know.

Castiel could almost feel sorry for him, as he knew the plight would be fruitless. Tom Balford would soon be at peace. Dean's hands expertly pumped the heart, forcing blood to flow through it, and trying to stimulate it to begin working on it's own again.

"Come on. Come on," Dean said, sweat beading on his forehead. "Don't do this. Come _on_."

"He's going," stated Joanna Harvelle, casting worried looks from the heart monitor, to Dean, and then back again.

"He's not going anywhere." Castiel was caught suddenly, unexpectedly, by bright green eyes. Dean was looking right at him as if he could see him. Which was impossible.

Castiel stared back, disbelieving. How could this be happening. Humans couldn't see angels. Children could. And the dead and dying. But Dean was neither dead nor dying. He was perfectly healthy, soul shining bright, and staring right at him, arms still pumping away.

While Castiel was still reeling in shock, Dean looked back down at the heart held in his hands. "Come on, don't do this," he panted. Nothing. "Damn it, come on!"

"Tom!

"Come on! Come on.

"Tom.

"Come on."

Castiel remembered himself only when Tom came to stand next to him, watching Dean fight to restart the man's heart.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

This.

This was the worst part.

Dean took a deep breath. His hands shook, and an uncomfortable heat spread towards his stomach making him feel sick.

Dean had always wanted to be a doctor, not because it was the family business from who knew how long ago, but because he really thought he could help people. Because he'd thought he'd be good at it. And he was. Third in his class, top pick for practically any hospital or clinic he wanted. And he loved it.

But... but this. This. This was the part he couldn't stand. Because it meant he'd failed. Of course he'd lost patients before. Ones that he'd known were probably a lost cause, but Mr. Balford – Tom – he'd had a chance. What had Dean done wrong? The surgery had gone so well.

But there was nothing for it. Dean tried again to force calm upon his body, and succeeded marginally. At least hopefully his voice wouldn't shake. He exited the stairwell and walked determinedly towards the waiting room where the nurse said they'd be.

"Mrs. Balford?" he asked of the only three occupants of the room. Wife and two kids, a son and a daughter, both around twenty.

Mrs. Balford stood from where she had been chatting idly with her son. She smiled at him and nodded. "Where's the doctor?" she asked.

Dean was young. He got that a lot. "I'm the doctor," he clarified.

"Oh, I'm sorry." And she did look sorry. Terribly sorry. She blushed, and started, "I didn't-"

Dean didn't let her finish. If he didn't get it out soon, he thought he might explode. "I operated on your husband."

She smiled again kindheartedly and put a hand on her chest. "How is he?"

For a moment, Dean didn't think he'd be able to do it. How much easier would it be if he just ran away now and ordered some nurse to do it. To tell them that their husband and father was dead. Dead because Dean had failed. They didn't look worried or stressed. They'd been fully expecting him to come away from his heart attack, maybe not unscathed, but alive. They'd expected the surgery to be successful. They'd expected him to be okay.

Dean's heart speed up again. How fitting would it be for him to have a heart attack of his own right here. Maybe it would fix everything, and could bring Tom Balford back. A life for a life.

"He didn't survive." It felt awful on his tongue. Heartless and cruel.

Mrs. Balford stood still for a moment, her kids sat behind her, smiles frozen on their now deadened faces. After a second of trying to process the news, she forced her jaw to work. "What?" she breathed, almost inaudible. Probably all she was capable of at the moment.

Dean almost couldn't do it again. His heart felt fit to burst, so he fell back onto what he knew. "We were able to restore blood flow to the heart with the operation... but he developed a lethal arrhythmia and we couldn't resuscitate him."

Mrs. Balford blinked, took a breath as if it were the first she'd taken in hours, and she raised her hand from her bosom to either reach out for help or point at him accusingly, Dean wasn't sure, but she laid it back down and said, "Wait. I'm sorry, I don't understand. A what?"

He saw tears forming, and felt his own face flood with heat. "I'm sorry."

"But, but... um. Excuse me. I'm sorry." It sounded like bargaining. But at least she was getting it.

The Balford's daughter's manicured fingernails dug into her cheek just below the line of her mouth. "What did you say?" asked the girl. "What?" her voice rose hysterically.

Dean's mouth opened, but he suddenly couldn't speak. The panic had won, and now he was failing even at this.

Mrs. Balford's son stood and hugged his mother, and Mrs. Balford reached behind her and put a hand on her daughter's head. "Oh my God!" the girl sobbed into her mother's side.

Dean couldn't stay any longer. He left the family to deal and all-but ran out the door.

 

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

Castiel followed as Dean Winchester slammed his hands onto the stairway door. He sprinted up three flights before he finally stopped and sat heavily on a step. The tears he had been holding back for so long burst forth, now that he was alone there was no reason to keep them hidden. Castiel could hear Dean's thoughts, desperate and broken as he cried.

_On the table, on my table. I'm sorry._

_I'm sorry._

His head hung forward, one hand clutched at his hair in grief, and his breath hitched with sobs.

_I'm sorry. What happened?_

_What happened?_

_A graft occlusion? What?_

Castiel stepped forward and knelt in front of Dean. He could hear Dean's heart pounding in his chest. Could feel Dean's soul aching with misery. It rolled off him in waves, and Castiel couldn't help but feel as if the man were calling out for help.

Dean raised his head, gasping for air, red eyes looking straight ahead, and, Castiel knew, not at him.

_It was textbook. It was textbook,_ his mind wailed.

Castiel waved a hand in front of Dean's face, but still he did not see.

He collapsed back into tears, his face scrunching up and he grasped roughly at his hair again, causing it to stick up unnaturally.

_I'm so sorry,_ he thought as he continued to weep for his patient. _The room got so big. I was so small. How did I get so small?_

_I should've gone back on. I should have massaged longer. I should have gone back on._

Dean's hands fell to his lap, and Castiel covered them with his own, trying to offer some comfort. Anything he could give to this man to stop his soul aching and cure his sense of helplessness would be worth it. How could it be right for a man with such a big heart to suffer such.

Dean moved his hands back up to his face. _I should have massaged longer. I lost it._

_I lost it._

His hands fell back onto his lap, and Dean continued to stare ahead. Castiel thought, just for a second, that maybe Dean's eyes had focused in on his, and he smiled. But then Dean blinked, spilling the last stubborn tears from his eyes. Castiel watched them fall, the small smile on his face fading.

This human. Dean Winchester. He'd looked right at Castiel in the Operating Room. Why could he not see him now?

How was it even possible? In Castiel's entire existence, he had only ever allowed himself to be seen by those living souls just brushing the veil. Those who needed someone to guide them to the other side. So why had Dean seen him then? Did he need help? Was he in such despair that his life was on the line? Castiel hoped not. He prayed it were not true. He knew that the world was in his Father's hands, Dean Winchester included, and Castiel would never have thought to go against His will, but...

But Dean had seen him. He needed _something_ from Castiel.

Feeling suddenly as if he were intruding, looking in on something private, something not meant for him, Castiel left.

As always, he had faith that he would be lead in the right direction.

o0o

Castiel came into step alongside with Balthazar as they perused a small convenience store in the lower-class part of the city. The store held only a few occupants, and they went about their business quietly. Two were regulars, they came in all the time and knew the cashier by name. In fact, one was good friends with him, and had just shared a beer with him three nights ago. He waved merrily at the cashier as he passed, but focused on his shopping. He would have a quick chat with him when he went to check out. The last two occupants were complete strangers, to the cashier, to the regulars, and even to each other. The first was just stopping in for a bite to eat before heading out to Reno, and the other had other things occupying his mind.

As they walked along, Castiel turned to his companion, and asked, "Have you ever been seen, Balthazar?"

"You're looking at me," he answered coyly.

Castiel shook his head, and clarified. "No, not by me. And not by the dying or the delerious." Balthazar studied some bottles of soda on a shelf. "Have you ever been seen... like you were a man?"

Balthazar looked up, contemplatively. "In a diner once, a blind woman turned to me all of a sudden, and asked me to pass her the mustard."

"But she was blind."

He pointed at him, "But she knew I was there.″"

Balthazar was not being very helpful, but Castiel continued anyway. "That doctor... in the operating room... he looked right at me."

Balthazar cocked an eyebrow at him. "He didn't see you, Castiel. He can't see you." His head tilted to one side, curiosity evident on his features. "No one can see you unless you want them to."

"And if I want him to?"

Now he looked amused. Yet, Castiel detected a hint of something deeper. "Why would you want him to?" Balthazar asked.

"To help him," Castiel answered honestly.

"Open it!" the voice of the preoccupied young man cut through their conversation, and they turned to view the new turn of events. "Open it now!"

The young man, Joshua he was named, took a gun from the pocket of his hoodie and swung it around at the other patrons. "Everybody down! Do it! Do it!" he shouted amidst the yells of surprise and horror. He pointed the gun back at the cashier, Eric, who flinched violently, hands working shakily at the register.

The friend of the cashier, Tori, lay face-down on the floor. _Shit, Eric! Just give him the money._

The man going off to gamble thought, irrationally, _Did I leave the lights on? I left the lights on_ (it was his first robbery, after all) _._

The sole female customer kept her eyes down, hands on top of her head. It was not her first time in this situation. All she could think was, _I should have gone to Ralph's._

The two angels walked calmly, invisible to the humans, toward their charges.

"Do it!" Joshua shouted, waving the gun about wildly.

"Relax," said Eric the cashier. "I'm doing it, okay?" In his head, he thought, _I never saw the Grand Canyon. I'll never see my grandkids again._

Balthazar placed his hands onto Joshua's shoulders. _What am I doing,_ Castiel heard him think. Joshua gave a quick shake of his head. _Just be cool. Be cool._

Castiel lad his hands on Eric, pushing calm though the palms of his hands that the man could not feel. Not physically anyway. "Be cool, man," Eric said with as much bravado as he could muster. "Be cool." He finished putting the money from his register into a paper bag. Joshua, the robber, snatched the money and fled the store. "Holy shit," said Eric.

Balthazar looked at Castiel, a mournful look on his face, and said, "They don't need to see us."

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

Dean stood in his OR the next morning, stomach rolling. He could barely even find it in him to breathe properly.

He stared hard at the table in the half-light given off from the prep room window. But it wasn't an empty bed he was seeing. He replayed the operation over and over again in his mind, running different options and different routes, meticulously searching his head for the bad decision he'd made that had gotten Mr. Balford killed. What could he have done differently, how could things have gone so that Mr. Balford would be with his family right now.

He should have kept pumping. Maybe if he'd kept going and gotten Mr. Balford back on bypass, he'd have been able to find the problem and fix it.

Dean sucked in a breath, the chilly air of the OR slicing through his lungs.

Why was this affecting him so badly? He'd lost people before...Was it because Mr. Balford had insisted on meeting him beforehand? Did he do it to get Dean emotionally invested. Or was it just to see the face of the man he was putting his faith in?

Rule number one of being a doctor: you can't save everyone, my friend. Some of his more sardonic professors at med school even went so far as to say that each and every single one of them would eventually get a patient killed. And he was right. Dean's first year as an intern, and he gave too low of a dose of antibiotics to an elderly patient, and the sickness took hold. No matter what he'd done after that, nothing could have been done to bring her back. If it weren't for Sam, he would have quit right then and there.

You can't save everyone. Yeah, sometimes people just die. Good people, who have things to live for, families to take are of. Dean could still see the looks of utter despair on the faces of Mr. Balford's family. They probably blamed him. Hell, he'd blame him.

And his operation today... If Dean fucked up the last operation, what was to say that he wouldn't screw the pooch on this one too? He was nothing more than a monkey with a knife, and eight years worth of knowledge of what not to do. What the hell did that even mean? Nobody was perfect, and with the way his hands were shaking right now, who knew what he might nick accidentally. Who knew which step he might forget to do.

Dean felt a trickle of cold sweat bead and drip down the back of his neck into his collar. His scalpels and his clamps and all his tools were just instruments of torture. He was no better than an infernal demon torturing souls damned to Hell. All the blood... he surely knew his way around a knife. It was almost second nature to him, the feel of skin coming open under the blade. Just the right amount of pressure, not too much, but you couldn't be too afraid to do it, or it wouldn't work. And that first spurt of plasma, dribbling down the skin, that meant you were doing a good job. He took pride in that small modicum of his work. The rib spreader was particularly effective as well, when you wanted shit out of the way.

He didn't even flinch when Ash came in and flipped a switch and the light right above him blared to life, Dean's eyes still full of _red_. "You're early," Ash said conversationally.

Not having gotten an answer, Ash went about moseying around, collecting his equipment.

_Oh, god_ , Dean thought. The equipment Dean would be using today. The blood... the skin...

Dean, suddenly unable to breathe at all, sprinted from the room. He burst into the nearest men's restroom, and barely made it into a stall before he was emptying the meager contents of his stomach into the bowl.

When he came out, still sweaty, but feeling marginally better, Dean was surprised to see his staff filing past, pushing equipment away from the OR.

"Doctor," Ash said.

Benny smiled kindly, almost pitifully at him before averting his eyes.

Highly confused, Dean spotted Jo in the prep room across the hall. She looked up as he saw her through the glass door. Dean made his way over to her. "What's going on?"

She looked concerned, but didn't say anything. "Dr. Braeden was looking for you. Dean," she jerked her head to the next room where Lisa was standing looking over a patient in surgery. She wasn't operating, but she held a mask over her face. She looked up though, as if sensing Dean's gaze. She nodded, and made her way out to him.

She was hardly out the door before Dean was asking, "What's going on? I have a mitral valve to do." He saw Jo toddle off out of the corner of his eye.

"They canceled it," she said.

"Who canceled it?"

"Sheffield."

Dean knew he couldn't argue with the boss. But he was by no means satisfied. "Why are _you_ telling me?"

"He was busy," she said placatingly.

"He was chickenshit," Dean replied. Sheffield sent Lisa because he knew Dean would probably take it better from a friend.

Lisa's eyes softened. "Dean, you're sick."

Dean felt his eyebrows knit together. "I'm not sick!"

Lisa huffed, and looked around. There were more than a few people milling about, so she put a hand to Dean's chest and pushed him into an empty room. "I'm not sick," he said quietly, trying to remain calm, though anger pulsated with every heartbeat.

"You're sick. You can't operate. They've rescheduled it for Monday. It was just an elective valve, no big deal," she said.

Dean clenched his jaw. "It's unprofessional, and," a group of nurses walked past, so he lowered his voice to a whisper, "and it embarrasses me in front of my staff." He stepped away, going to the operating table and leaning on his hands. Now _everybody_ thought he was a murderer.

As if reading his mind, Lisa said, "I saw the chart on Balford."

"What?"

She sighed, "I'm on the committee. It's on review."

Dean gulped. Of course it was.

"It wasn't your fault," Lisa intoned, coming around the bed to face him from the other side.

Panic attack this morning aside, Dean wasn't an idiot. He knew he did everything he could have done. But it didn't make the present situation any better. "I know," he said defiantly.

"Then what's the problem?"

Early mid-life existential crisis? Dean thought helplessly. "I don't know," he whispered, emotion slurring his speech. He clenched a fist into the sheets. Lisa reached over from the other side of the table and covered his hand with hers.

"Dean, you put up a terrific fight."

He put on a smile, "Yeah. We fight for people's lives, right?"

"Uh huh."

"Do you ever wonder who it is we're fighting with?"

Lisa's eyes narrowed in confusion, only for a second, but Dean knew he'd said too much.

He pulled his hand away and ran it down his face. "So," he supplied helpfully so that she wouldn't have to, "I'm crazy and chemically imbalanced."

"You're tired," she said compassionately. "You have moments." She waited a beat before asking softly, "Why didn't you call me?"

He smirked, but it was a wasted effort. "Because I never sleep when you stay over."

She raised an eyebrow, knowingly. "You never sleep whether I stay over or not."

Dean didn't respond. They both knew she was right.

"You're good," she said. "You know it. Come back Monday and get back on the horse."

As pep talks went, it left a lot to be desired, but Dean knew her heart was behind it. She was like him, terrible at saying shit out loud. She was better at showing her feelings through actions. But he took it for what it was worth. She cared.

The door opened, and a nurse Dean recognized but didn't know popped her head in. "Doctor," she said to Lisa, who nodded.

The nurse left, and Lisa looked up at him. She reached up and kissed him on the cheek, a careful caress. "I'll see you."

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

Castiel stood off to the side of the operating room, watching Dean watch Lisa leave the room. Dean stayed for another moment, but, with nothing else keeping him there, eventually he left.

Castiel wished he could show himself, if only to offer comfort to the man he knew was in pain. But he was not his charge, and nothing he could say would do anything other than confuse him further.

And he had someone. Someone who could help him in a better way than Castiel ever could.

So, he winged away from the hospital, and away from Dean Winchester.

o0o


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

  
  
  


Castiel flew away from the hospital with barely a thought, and landed in one of his favorite places in the world. The Los Angeles Public Library.

But it wasn't just for the books. He could read whatever he wanted to in a second flat and recite it without faltering. But that was nothing compared to listening to people read. It was the way they said things and what they though about the words on the page and how the words made them feel. He could listen for days on end.

_"As I walk among the stony shore of the pond in my shirtsleeves..."_

_"...Amazon basin in the north, once an island sea..."_

_"The highest truth on the subject remains unsaid, probably cannot be said. For all that we say is the far off remembering of the institution..."_

_"...she begins to pull away from the awareness she had once..."_

_'Commencing search,' searching for my soul,_ said a woman a the computer.

_What happened to the cards? You could touch the cards._

_She's been looking at me for half an hour. Maybe if I just stand here..._

_"This is a delicious evening, when the whole body's one sense..."_

_"What if I screamed? What if I just screamed right now?"_

_"When a woman decides to sleep with a man..."_

Castiel sat himself down opposite an old man, wearing a sweater vest and a tie. He came here often, and always tried to sit in the same spot. He read, " _You knew there would always be a spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person had died for no reason."_

The old man closed the book and stood from the table, heading home. The book: _A Movable Feast_ , by Earnest Hemingway.

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o   

 

Gabriel Messenger was in love. She was German, and she was delicious.

He scraped another spoonful of the ice cream from the bottom of the bucket, and had to fight back a moan of pleasure as it hit his lips, slightly warm and melty as it was. It was one of the finer things in life, chocolate, and he had learned to appreciate it quickly. A bit much, if anybody were to take one look at him, but another thing he had learned was not to care what anybody thought.

He was sat up in a hospital bed, the curtain drawn around him to do what little it could to separate him from the noise of the hospital. The arm that held the ice cream sported a plastic bracelet with his name, an IV in his hand, his wedding ring, and a tattoo of what looked like an Indian goddess on his bicep only slightly obscured by the sleeve of his hospital gown.

He continued to scrape at the bottom of the ice cream tub until he heard the quick footsteps that he recognized immediately as his Kali's, his wife. He hurriedly stuffed the evidence under his sheet, and put on his most innocent face.

Kali swept the curtain aside with a loud _whoosh!_ and placed a handful of pink flowers into the vase she'd brought from home. "Alright," she said in her thick accent. "They have rescheduled the operation for Monday."

"What happened yesterday?"

"They had a golf tournament," she said sarcastically. "I don't know. Who knows with these people."

Before Gabriel could inquire further, a young man in a white coat pushed the curtain the rest of the way open. "Good morning, Mr. Messinger. I'm Dr. Winchester."

Kali scoffed, but Gabriel corrected him before she could turn her wrath the doctor's way. "The 'g' is soft, like 'messenger.'"

Dr. Winchester didn't respond. He had Gabriel's chart in his hands, and he checked the IV before even looking at Gabriel. His eyes narrowed in confusion. "What's on your lip?"

"What? Am I slobbering here?" Gabriel reached up a hand to swipe at his mouth, but as he did the ice cream fell from where he'd been holding it under the sheet.

The doctor stooped easily to retrieve it, glaring at Gabriel on the way back up.

Kali turned indignant. "Where did you get that?"

"What am I, a prisoner," he sniped back.

"You want to get well, or you want Ben & Jerry's?"

Dr. Winchester went to the linen closet, and grabbed a clean gown for Gabriel, tossing it onto his bed. His glare did not fade. "This operation is a big deal. If you're going to continue to eat like this, you might as well skip it. Save yourself the thirty grand."

"Yeah, well, if you'd performed the operation yesterday like you were supposed to, I'd be sucking carrots through a straw in my arm. What happened?"

The doctor hesitated. "Circumstances were not optimal for the procedure."

Kali looked disbelieving, but Gabriel didn't let her say anything. "Hey, I ain't 'the procedure.' My name is Gabriel Messenger, and I'm sitting right here."  

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

The more Castiel thought about Dean Winchester, the more he realized he could not stop thinking about him. Never before had he been so interested in a human. One very particular human. The next days, often without conscious thought, he found himself reaching out with his Grace, feeling Dean's presence. It called to him like a beacon.

Unable to resist it any longer, Castiel followed Dean's presence to the second floor of the hospital, and landed right next to him, already walking along. Castiel trailed after him, watching the human as he was approached by a nurse for a signature. He signed quickly and kept walking.

He stopped suddenly, however, upon seeing a darkly complected, middle aged woman at the nurse's station. Dean glanced frantically around for an exit, and was granted an open elevator which he disappeared into. He was deposited back onto the fourth floor where Castiel stood waiting.

The fourth floor was the children's ward. Dean sighed and smiled as he stepped out into a much brighter atmosphere than the rest of the hospital. The walls were covered in colorful framed paintings and bright yellow walls, crayon drawings from the Ward's occupants stuck to the walls with tape. Dean walked up to the window of one of the playrooms, the glass of which was covered in blue hand prints. He curiously placed his palm over one of them.

Castiel appeared on the other side, and just so, placed his hand opposite Dean's.

Dean continued on, along the corridor, and Castiel followed.

As they passed room after room, Castiel was pleased to see his brothers and sisters watching over the ward. In one room, his sister Hannah was playing with the two young occupants, batting a balloon back and forth. _Floating, floating. Don't pop it, don't pop it!_

Annael, in the next room, stood sentry over a sleeping child, and her mother, passed out on in the chair next to the bed.

Uriel was humming along to Do You Know the Muffin man, and smiling as he watched his charges bobbing their heads along to the tune.

And Samandriel in the last room with two children, staring open mouthed, young and innocent, at the television program.

Castiel chuckled at the last, and then turned his attention back to Dean Winchester who stole his way through the doors into the much quieter maternity ward. The nurse on duty – her name tag read M. Masters, R.N. – just smirked at him and let him pass like it was a common thing he did.

Dean went into the nursery and sat on a stool in the middle of the room, finally taking a deep calming breath. He rolled his neck around carefully, a peaceful smile crossing his features.

o0o

Dean sat still, taking in the silence of the nursery, only occasionally interrupted by a quiet coo from one of the infants. As he did this, he could feel his stress crack and start to crumble away. In here there were no worries. No patients (not his, anyway), no bitchy wives, no grieving families. Just new life. And the ever-present smell of baby powder.

The silence was broken by a familiar laugh. "Dean! I see you charmed the nurses into letting you in again."

"Hey, Sam. Sorry I missed lunch the other day."

"It's okay," said his brother. "I'm sorry about what happened." He put a file into the desk and leaned against it. "What are you doing here?"

Dean did a 360º on the stool, and stopped facing Sam. "Oh, you know... I was on my way up to X-ray... and I though I'd stop in and just... hide."

"From what?"

Dean paused, he didn't want to talk about it right now. Instead, he said, "I should've gone into pediatrics."

Sam laughed, but quietly, mindful not to wake the babies. "Oh, no. Every girl you meet is either married or a gyno. Not the best chances."

Dean hummed in agreement.

One of the babies chose that moment to let out a pitiful wail. Dean stood up and watched his little brother throw a receiving blanket over his shoulder before picking up the baby. "Poor little guy," he said. " _Yeah, okay._ He never stops crying."

"What's wrong with him?"

Sam patted the baby's back soothingly. "No insurance. Found him in a dumpster behind the House of Pies. We worked him up the wazoo for everything from drug exposure to diabetes." The infant continued to wail. "We go nothing."

Dean took his stethoscope from around his neck and stepped closer. "May I?" Sam nodded and changed the baby's position.

Dean warmed the stethoscope with the palm of his hand and pressed it to the baby's chest. It was hard to tell over the whimpers, but there might be something. "Did you do an ultrasound?"

"You hear a murmur?"

"Worth a shot."

Sam nodded, eyes concerned, and held the infant to his chest again. " _Okay, baby. Yes."_ He then looked back up at Dean, expression only increasing in potency. "So what are you hiding from?"

Dean sighed. "My patient's wife. She wants me to tell her that... that her husband is going to be okay... and that I have every confidence." Dean blinked and swallowed, forcing out the words, "But I don't." Sam said nothing, so Dean continued. "And after all this time, and after all this work... I – I suddenly have this feeling that... That _none_ of this is in my hands. _Nothing_. And if it isn't... what do I do with that?"

Sam continued looking at Dean for a moment, like he was trying to think of something to say, but then he cast his eyes down and kissed the still whining baby on the head.

o0o

Even after Dean left Sam alone, with a promise to get together soon – outside of work this time – he couldn't stop thinking about that poor abandoned baby. The little guy didn't have anybody who cared for him in the world. There had to be something that Dean could do. Technically, it wasn't his responsibility, but since Dean was basically useless until Monday he figured he'd better take the initiative.

This is what found him in his dark office late that night surrounded by medical textbooks, lit only by the desk lamp he'd switched on when the light had faded. He'd been there for hours, his eyes drooping behind his reading glasses, yet he had nothing to show for it. He flipped through a few more pages and then stretched his aching neck from side to side.

Feeling defeated, Dean closed the multitude of books around him, and left them on the desk, thinking he ought to check up on Mr. Messenger before he left for the night.

He got off the elevator on the sixth floor. A lot of the lights were off for the night shift, and Dean realized he'd stayed later then he'd intended to.

He stopped by the nurses' station – empty, perhaps they were on rounds – and picked up the patient chart. He walked down the hall, reading the chart as he went, and blinked back the sleepiness from his eyes. Rubbing a hand over his face, Dean looked up and was surprised to see a man in a tan trenchcoat. "Excuse me?" Dean called out. The nurses should have kicked this dude out hours ago.

The man turned around, and Dean stopped short for a moment, struck by the unruly windswept hair and bright blue eyes that matched his tie perfectly. He shook himself mentally. "Are you a visitor?" Dean asked.

"Yes," the man answered, his voice a deep rumble.

Dean blinked. "Visiting hours have been over since eight."

He cocked his head to the side, like a confused puppy. "Why do they have that?"

"What?"

"Hours? Doesn't it help the patient to be visited?"

Dean almost smiled. "Who are you visiting? Mr. Messenger?"

"Right now?"

"Yeah."

"You."

Dean paused, and then said, "I don't need a visitor."

"You're not ill?"

"No. I'm one of the doctors here." he twitched his arms in an aborted gesture meant to indicate his white coat.

The man gave Dean a meaningful look, eyes, wide and caring, but with an undercurrent of... Dean didn't know what. The man asked, "Are you in despair?"

Dean should have been indignant. He should have yelled at this stranger to get the hell out and never come back asking personal questions he didn't have the right to know the answer to, but... there was something... Something there in how the man looked at Dean, like he already knew the answer. And he wanted to help. "I lost a patient."

"You did everything you could?"

"I was holding his heart in my hand when he died." He had to fight back the emotion attempting to bubble up in his chest as he remembered what had happened.

"Then he wasn't alone."

"Yes he was." Alone and my fault.

The man's eyes hardened and his voice changed from weird and ethereal to serious. "People die."

"Not on my table."

"People die when their bodies give out."

"It's my job to keep their bodies from giving out. Or what am I doing here." Who was this man to tell him what was supposed to happen.

"It wasn't you fault, Dean."

"I wanted him to live."

"He is living. Just not the way you think."

Dean narrowed his eyes. Who was this guy? "I don't believe in that."

"Some things are true whether you believe in them or not."

Then something struck Dean. "How did you know my name?"

The man pointed at Dean's badge, a small smile on his face. Dean covered it with his hand – for all the good it would do. "What's yours?"

"Castiel."

It was such a weird name, Dean almost though he was making it up. He repeated it out loud, "Castiel.... You better get out of here, Castiel. Or security's going to think you're a psych patient." Dean couldn't help it, he smiled. He turned on his heel and walked away, kind of happy he'd gotten the last word in that roller coaster of a conversation, but kind of weirdly upset that it had come to an end. Psych patient or not, Dean hadn't felt so at ease with a person outside of Sam... pretty much his entire life.

He turned back around, hoping to get one last glimpse of the mysterious trenchcoated man, but when he looked, there was no one there. The hallway was empty. Dean hadn't heard anything. He kept walking but turned back a couple more times, wondering how the man had been so quiet, and if he was even real at all.

Dean went to the locker room to change for the trip home, and as he was hanging his coat up, noticed his badge. It read 'D. Winchester, M.D. Thoracic Surgeon'. Nowhere on the id did it say 'Dean.' Dean smiled, thinking perhaps Mr. Messenger told Castiel about him.

o0o


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

  
  


Castiel hadn't meant to ever see Dean again after the other night – not unless he was called to. He'd meant to try and help, and then he meant to move on, continue on his path. But when Monday morning came around, the day Castiel knew Dean had been dreading, he could not stave his curiosity. Dean was doing spectacularly, whether it was because of, or in spite of their conversation a few nights ago was unclear, but Castiel only saw the smile in Dean's eyes and was overjoyed.

"Where are we?" Dean asked.

"Down a liter," Jo Harvelle answered.

"Suction."

Dean was singing in his head. _I am stuck on Band-Aid brand 'cause Band-Aid's stuck on me. I am stuck on Band-Aid brand 'cause Band-Aid's stuck on me._

_No dying now, Mr. Messenger. Not until you give me Castiel's phone number._

Castiel was taken aback. Had he really had such an effect on the doctor.

_I am stuck on Band-Aid brand 'cause Band-Aid's stuck on me._

Castiel smiled.

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

The surgery was over, Jimi was playing and Dean couldn't help but grin as he washed up. He glanced up through the glass divider to Jo, who was closing up. She gave him what he assumed was the facial equivalent of a thumbs up, but he'd take it. He smirked back proudly.

o0o

That night as Dean lay in bed, his dog, Rumsfeld, curled up beside him and snoring like a lawnmower, Dean found himself quite unable to sleep. He punched his pillow into a more comfortable shape and closed his eyes, but he couldn't get the mysterious man from the hospital out of his head. _Those eyes,_ he thought. _The way he looked... right down into me._ Dean opened his eyes again and stared at the ceiling, the rustic ceiling fan and the long gouge in the paint from when Dean had installed it, underscored by leafy shadows from outside the french doors.

_Castiel... what the hell kind of name is Castiel?_

Dean rolled over in an attempt to relax, but saw on his nightstand something out of place. He sat up, turned on the bedside lamp, and picked up... a book? He squinted in the harsh light. _A Moveable Feast_ by Earnest Hemingway from the Los Angeles Public Library. How had that gotten there? Lisa, maybe? She wasn't really much of a reader, maybe she'd left it for him, knowing his trouble with sleeping most nights.

Well... it was better than just staring at the ceiling. Dean snagged his reading glasses from under the lamp and opened the book.

When Dean woke the next morning, even after only a few hours sleep, he felt reinvigorated. And he had one person to thank for that. Lisa had been at the hospital all night, keeping up on her recent surgery patient, and when Dean didn't find her in her office, he had an inkling of where she might be.

He opened the door to the roof, and sure enough, there she was, in sweats and a sweaty t-shirt, shooting hoops by herself at the basketball goal on the roof. Or trying to shoot one-handed, the other hand occupied by a half-spent cigarette.

Dean smiled when she noticed him, "I thought you'd be here." He went over and kissed her on the cheek. "Salty."

She lifted a corner of her mouth in response. "My transplant tanked at 3:00 am.," she said by way of greeting.

Dean's heart clenched. "You okay?"

She nodded, looking at him strangely, like she didn't know why he thought she'd be upset, and took another shot.

Dean mentally shook himself, and let it go. He was the one that always got so over-sentimental. He held up the book. "You might want to return this... The part about the spring? You 'knew there'd always be a spring.' How did you know that...?"

Lisa caught the ball, and took the book from him, looking at it as if she'd never seen it before. "What?" she asked. "I didn't give you this book."

Huh? But who could've... "You didn't?" he asked, face burning as she continued to study the book in her hands, lacking any real interest.

"Where'd you get it?"

Not having a good explanation, Dean shrugged.

He had to figure it out though, so later when he got off, Dean went to the library to try to determine who'd left it for him. And how they'd gotten into his house, of course. He certainly didn't remember bringing it home, and, really, why would somebody break in and do nothing but leave a book for him. It was pretty strange.

Dean walked up to the front desk, and spoke to the attendant. "Hi. I'm a physician, and I think a patient left that in my office." No need for the true explanation. "Is there any way you can tell me who checked it out?"

He shook his head, unfazed. "I can't tell you who. But I can tell you when."

Better than nothing. Dean nodded and the attendant scanned the bar code and handed the book back. "Give me five minutes."

Dean wandered away, not wanting to hover. He wasn't really a book lover himself, but now he was interested. After a brief search, he found himself browsing the Classics section, looking for more Hemingway. If this one was good, why not read another. Perhaps books _could_ be his thing.

He was so intent on the selection that he actually jumped at  the familiar deep voice behind him that said, "Hello, Dean." Dean spun around to see Castiel standing there, as awkward-looking in the trench coat and black suit as he was the first time Dean had seen him. "It's nice to see you again."

Dean blinked at the absurdity. "It's weird to see you again."

"Weird is nice." Dean let out a surprised laugh at the not-quite-joke. "You like Hemingway?" Castiel inquired, looking up at the shelf in front of Dean.

"What? Oh! Yeah. Yeah, I'm starting to."

"May I?" Castiel inquired, holding out his hand.

Dean stood there for a moment, staring dumbly, before he remembered he was still holding the book in his hand. He passed it over, mentally berating himself for acting like a crush-struck teenager.

Castiel took the book and opened it to a specific page easily, like he had the thing perfectly memorized. He read, "'As I ate the oysters with their strong taste of the sea, and their faint metallic taste, as I drank their cold liquid from each shell and washed it down with the crisp taste of the wine, I lost the empty feeling, and began to be happy.'"

Dean remembered that part, and though it was hardly the most significant part of the story, but the way that Castiel read it, with such deep emotion, Dean began to worry he'd missed the most important part after all.

Castiel closed the book with a smile. "He never forgets to describe how things taste," he said with great affectation, like Hemingway held a cherished place in his heart. "I like that."

Dean could do nothing but smile and nod, too entranced by the way Castiel's eyes lit up at the passage. After a moment, he realized he'd been staring, and broke the silence. "Suh... so um... do you come here a lot?" Classy, Winchester.

Castiel looked as if it were the most interesting question ever asked. "I live here."

Dean huffed and nodded like it made perfect sense. "What do you do?"

"Read."

Dean laughed. The man clearly wasn't one for sarcasm. "No, I mean your work."

Castiel seemed to catch his mistake, making an (adorable) 'oh' face. "I'm a messenger."

"What kind of messenger? A bike messenger."

"No, I'm a messenger of God."

Well, that was unexpected. _Then why are you flirting with me,_ he wanted to ask, but held his tongue. "Got a message for me?"

Castiel's whole face seemed to smile. "I already gave it to you."

"Did you use my pager? 'Cause I usually don't get messages unless you beep me." And wow that was lame.

Castiel looked confused for a second before responding, "You've...definitely been beeped." Dean was sure Castiel was trying to make him feel like his joke wasn't dumb. "How is Messenger?"

Dean took the change of topic gratefully. "He's good. Yeah, the operation went really well."

"I was a good day."

"It was a good day, yeah. Yeah, I didn't kill anybody today." And wow, Dean was just full of bad jokes this morning, wasn't he.

"You're an excellent doctor."

"How do you know?"

"I have a feeling."

"Pretty flimsy evidence."

Castiel tilted his head, but then his eyes lit up. He stepped closer, much closer. "Close your eyes," he said. Dean flashed distrustful for a second, which Castiel seemed to catch onto. "It's just for a moment."

Dean closed his eyes as Castiel took Dean's hand, holding it out, palm up, and ran a finger down the middle of the palm. His wrist just brushed the tips of Dean's fingers. "What am I doing," Castiel asked. His breath ghosted over Dean's face and it was so intimate that he had to quell the urge to just go a little further forward and brush his lips against the other man's.

"You're touching me." His voice came out deeper, doing nothing to mask his sudden interest.

"Touch," said Castiel, softly. So close. "How do you know?"

"Because I feel it."

Abruptly, Castiel let go and Dean's hand fell back to his side. When Dean opened his eyes, Castiel had stepped back. He cast his eyes to the side as if seeing something Dean could not, and then back at Dean. "You should trust that. You don't trust it enough."

Castiel looked off to the side again. Was he nervous. Was somebody watching. "Let's go somewhere," Castiel said.

"Where?"

"I don't care."

"What do you want to do?"

"Anything."

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

Dean took Castiel to an enclosed farmers market downtown. Castiel had been there before, but never as a customer, and never while visible to the populous. It was quite a different experience having people see him, some even smiled in greeting. Castiel gladly smiled back, eager to see the world from Dean Winchester's point of view.

He followed his companion to a table laden with fruits of all kinds. Dean picked up the first thing that he saw, a pear, and held it up to this nose and sniffed it. Dean glanced at Castiel, and flushed a little when he saw Castiel staring.

Grasping at straws, looking for a way to play it off, Castiel picked up the first thing that he saw, a green, flat, spiky looking vegetable, and sniffed it. Dean face scrunched up, in what Castiel only deciphered after a moment, in an attempt to not laugh. If Castiel had been human, he might have blushed, and that discovery right there struck him as the most human thing he'd ever felt in his life.

Once they picked out their meals, and found a seat at one of the picnic tables in the market, Cas found he could only stare as Dean bit into a brown pear, a look of pure rapture on his face. "What's that like?" Castiel asked.

Dean held up the pear, as if to say, 'this?'

"What's it taste like? Describe it. Like Hemingway."

Dean grinned shyly, but looked down and said, "Well, it tastes like..." he gave an embarrassed laugh, "a pear. You don't know what a pear tastes like?"

"I don't know what a pear tastes like to you."

Dean continued looking at Castiel, thinking for a second of what to say. "Sweet... juicy. Soft on your tongue. Grainy... like sugary sand that dissolves in your mouth." His eyes dropped to the table again, and he smiled sweetly. "How's that?"

"It's perfect."

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

"The first time a looked into a microscope, I knew I wanted to be a doctor." They were in the basement of the hospital, in the lab. Dean wasn't really much when it came to dates – was this a date? – and after the farmer's market, he was pretty much out of ideas. So here they were. Castiel seemed interested enough in medicine, and Dean thought he might like to see the basis of it.

"Okay, let me have your hand," Dean said, holding out the sharp instrument used to prick the finger to take a sample of blood.

"What for?"

"We'll take a look at your blood."

Castiel's eyes widened in trepidation. "Not a possibility."

"What? Afraid of a little blood?" Castiel kept his hand firmly by his side, and didn't say anything. Dean managed not to laugh. "I never really had that problem. I was always patching my little brother Sammy's skinned knees when we were kids. Parents worked a lot. I guess I just liked taking care of people."

Dean pricked his own finger and let a drop fall onto a slide which he quickly prepared and placed on under the lens. He adjusted the microscope. "There. Take a look at that."

Castiel stepped up, face serious and determined, like he'd be tested on what he saw later. He placed his eye in front of the scope, but jumped back slightly. "That's bright," he said, smiling, and went back to look.

"That's me," Dean said, as Castiel studied the slide. "All those cells."

"That's all you are," Castiel said evenly.

"That and all the space in between."

Castiel stood back up and canted his head to the side. "If this is all you are... these cells, then when they die, that's the end?"

"I don't know," Dean said. "I think so."

"Then how do you explain it?"

"What?"

"The enduring myth of Heaven."

 _This again._ But Dean decided to play nice. "I used to think I had it all figured out."

"But you didn't?"

"No. Because something happened in my O.R. and I got... this jolt. I got this feeling that there's something bigger out there. Something bigger than me, bigger than you, and it..." He looked up at Castiel's face. "Does that sound crazy?"

"No."

"I couldn't fix him. I did everything right... and I couldn't fix him." Dean didn't know why Castiel could make him open up like this. Like no one else could. "That's not supposed to happen." He took a deep breath. "And I..."

"You cried."

"Yeah."

"Why do people cry?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what happens? Physically?"

Dean nodded, thinking back to his med school days. "Tear ducts operate on a normal basis to lubricate and protect the eye," he said with textbook accuracy. "When you have an emotion, they overact and create tears."

"Why? Why do they overact?"

Dean wondered what he was getting at. "I don't know."

"Maybe," he said, "emotion becomes so intense... your body just can't contain it. Your mind and your feelings becomes too powerful. Your body weeps."

Dean didn't know what to say, but was saved from the awkward silence by the shrill sound of his beeper. He snatched it from his belt.

_911 606._

Emergency Room 606? That was Gabriel Messenger's room.

He looked up at Castiel. "I have to go."

Castiel opened his mouth as if to protest.

"I got to go. Stay right here." He ran for the door, but stopped and turned back around. "Don't go anywhere."

Dean ran. _No no no no no._ He couldn't die, not after the surgery went so well. He couldn't die. Dean jumped in the elevator when it arrived, and the second the doors opened again, he was squeezing through and sprinting towards Mr. Messenger's room.

Mr. Messenger was gasping and spluttering around the breathing tube, having woken up from the light sedation he had been under. "Get the tube out," he ordered the nurse who was helping him to sit up.

"He can't breathe," she said.

"It's because the tube is blocked," Dean said, and the two of them held him still, and the nurse carefully slid the tube out.

Immediately, Mr. Messenger's breathing evened out and he plopped his head back onto the pillow. He took deep, calming breaths as Dean checked his vitals. The situation having calmed significantly, Dean asked, "How you feeling?"

Mr. Messenger swallowed thickly. "Ready to hit the waves." His voice was rough from the trauma.

Dean smirked. "I'm afraid your body surfing day's are over." He nodded toward Mr. Messenger's forearm. "You got a mean tattoo going there. What does your wife think of that?"

"That _is_ my wife," Mr. Messenger said, smirking back and moving his arm so Dean could see better.

Dean raised his eyebrows in amusement. "I see." He chuckled, and turned to the nurse. "Check his vitals every fifteen."

When Dean finally made it back down to the lab, Castiel was gone.

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

Castiel landed in Gabriel Messenger's room after it was dark, invisible once again. The man appeared to have drifted back off to sleep, though his breathing was still fairly labored. Castiel placed a palm onto Gabriel's chest, pushing healing through flesh and bone – nothing other than relief for the sore throat – and immediately, he breathed easier.

Castiel turned to leave, when a voice spoke behind him. "I can't see you, but I know you're there." He turned around in surprise. "Go back and tell them that I'm not going. Not yet."

o0o


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

  
  


Dean wasn't really upset Castiel had left. It sucked, of course. Maybe something had come up, and really, it wasn't like the other man wasn't interested. He'd been practically following Dean around the whole day, and standing too close... and... well pretty much just staring at him. Then again, Dean had just stared back like it was a normal thing to do. Like they were conversing with just their eyes. He didn't think he'd ever felt that before. To anybody watching them, it might have seemed uncomfortable, but to Dean, it felt... Well, it felt right.

After finally making it back home, Dean walked up the path to the front door, a spring in his step.

Lisa had her feet kicked up on the couch, Dean's dog Rumsfeld zonked out with his head on her chest. "Where have you been?" she asked.

She wouldn't have minded if he said he was on a date, they weren't exactly going steady, but Dean held back. Instead, what came out was, "Oh, shit. I forgot dinner."

He went to put the produce from earlier in the refrigerator, Lisa followed him into the kitchen.

"Dinner?" she asked. "With who?"

Dean went for nonchalance. "A guy I met. I bumped into him and we got something to eat. Did you pack my backpack?" he asked, pointing at it on the kitchen floor.

"What else?" she insisted, not harshly. But like she knew he was hiding something.

"We talked... and then I got beeped and he disappeared. Why did you pack my backpack?"

Rumsfeld came running when he heard the cabinet close and Lisa knelt down to catch him before he thought he was getting fed. She rubbed his ears. "Hey, what are you doing?" she asked Rumsfeld, and then turned her attention back to Dean. "I thought we'd fly up to Tahoe, use your uncle Bobby's cabin. Maybe do a little hiking." She looked back down at the dog, with a 'huh', feeling around on his head.

Dean turned around. "What?" he asked. Lisa continued trying to get a look in Rumsfeld's fur. "Oh, god. Is it?"

She rolled her eyes at his revulsion. "Dean, it's just a tick. Get a match."

"We're not going to _burn_ him, Lisa."

"It'll have to back out. Can't leave the head in."

"We can't just be burning tick heads." That may have sounded slightly hysterical to his ears.

"Then get some alcohol," she said.

"Okay," he went to leave, but stopped. "No, I don't have any."

"You don't have any alcohol?"

"I don't _operate_ here."

She sighed. "How about some olive oil?"

"Okay," he went to the cabinet. "Which kind? Jalapeno or rosemary?"

Lisa looked up at him like he was losing his mind. "Rosemary," she chuckled. She dripped some oil on the dog's neck and handed it back. "So what did you and your friend... What did you say his name was?"

"Castiel."

"What did you two talk about?"

 _Uh, awkward._ "Dying."

She raised an eyebrow at him, still trying to work out the tick.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Come on, we deal with life and death every day. Why can't we talk about it?"

"I just hope you won't become one of those surgeons who prays in the O.R."

Dean didn't know why, but he felt indignant at the comment. Maybe it was all of Castiel's God mumbo jumbo. But then Lisa finally succeeded in getting the tick out and stood to wash it down the sink. Dean stepped up to the kitchen island, putting his palms flat on the top. "He-hey. Can we just talk for a minute?"

She continued washing her hands. "We can talk while we're camping."

"Lisa, I can't go camping now."

She turned around and regarded him seriously. "We need to spend some time together."

"Okay. Alright." He leaned his hips against the island, setting himself so as not to be moved. "Alright, let's see if we can just spend five minutes. Let's see if we can just stand still for five minutes and be together."

"Doing what?"

"Just being here."

She squinted at him like he was having hysterics, and then smiled patronizingly. "I'll get the trail map."

And she started toward the living room, but Dean stood in front of her, taking her arm and halting her in her tracks. "No, no no. No. No, I mean it. Nothing but us."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Well, just look at me for starters."

Lisa seemed to be warring within herself as to whether to oblige, and thankfully came to the conclusion that Dean wasn't about to let this go. She leaned forward slightly, while Dean stood still in front of her, the look on her face as serious as when she operated. Dean knew he wasn't being put on, that she really was trying, so intent and focused that Dean couldn't help it. He cracked up. He laughed even though he knew this was his idea.

"You can't do it," she said, not losing her serious face.

Dean continued laughing, pointing at her face.

"You can't do it," she repeated, shaking her head. Then she poked him in the side, unfairly getting his ticklish spot. "You flinched. You lose!"

"You cheat!" Dean shouted, running away toward the living room, but she caught up to him and jumped on his back, kissing his neck from behind. Unwilling to be bested, Dean pried her arms off and turned around, pinning her against the wall and ripping open her shirt, buttons flying everywhere.

Lisa looked at him like a damn tiger viewing it's prey and grabbed his face on either side, pulling him into a rough, but no less sensual kiss.

Dean's hands wandered down to settle on her waist, and he pulled her forward, plastering their bodies together. Lisa growled, and jumped up into his arms. He carried her off to the bedroom, barely able to see anything with her all over him, having to feel his way around with his free hand.

Later, as they lay in the dark, Lisa having already fallen asleep, Dean couldn't relax. Lisa was a warm, and comforting presence beside him – as comforting as she was capable of being anyway – but Dean couldn't stop thinking of Castiel. Wondering why he'd left. Had Dean been gone too long?

And Lisa had been here, waiting for him. Dean couldn't help but feel guilty about it. Exclusive or not, they'd had plans, and Dean had completely blown her off to hang out with some guy he'd only known for less than a week. But he hadn't wanted the night to end. If the incident with Mr. Messenger hadn't gotten in the way, he might have let it go on and on.

Because Dean felt comfortable with Castiel. More comfortable than anybody he'd ever known, except maybe Sam. The closest comparison Dean could come up with for Castiel was his first serious girlfriend, Cassie in undergrad. If he hadn't had to move away for med school, they might have gotten married. And that realization struck Dean hard. He barely knew the man, just an acquaintance of a patient; he didn't even know if he and Mr. Messenger were related.

He didn't even know Castiel's last name. Not to mention that he just kept showing up out of  the blue like some frikin' Harry Potter wizard, just popping into existence.

Dean rolled his eyes at the absurdity.

 _Okay, first of all,_ he thought to himself, _apparition makes a loud crack like a whip. And second of all,_ wizards don't exist.

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. He knew he should sleep, he felt damn exhausted, but every time he closed his eyes, all Dean saw were those too-blue eyes, the sex hair, the smile when he listened to Dean yammer on trying to describe a pear.

Unable to deal, Dean disentangled himself and got up to go watch TV on the couch.

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

Castiel remained with Gabriel Messenger. The human knew he was there, he'd spoken to him even though he couldn't see him. How had he known for sure what angels were tasked with, ferrying souls to the afterlife?

Gabriel was sitting up in bed, flipping through the channels on the television. A man was playing a piano and singing " _...that old black magic called, old black magic called, old black magic called... loooove._ " The station changed to the audience of Jerry Springer cheering as the host said, " _Thank you, thank you very much. Welcome back. We've been talking to mothers who are members of the KKK_." The audience booed.

"You wanna watch anything?" Gabriel asked the room at large. "Me neither," he said, and flipped the tv off, settling back into his pillow, and closing his eyes.

"How do you know I'm here?" Castiel finally asked, allowing himself to be seen.

Gabriel looked up, saw Castiel and smiled. Barely audible, he whispered, "I know," with a nod. He looked Castiel over, "Jeez, you look good. I forgot how good everybody looked." He shook his head in disbelief, "Thirty years of silence. You got guts, kid, showing yourself like that. I appreciate that. I do. It's gonna make it easier.... I got to tell you, though, I feel fine. You might wanna check your orders or something, because I sure as hell don't feel like I'm dying."

Castiel wondered again how this Gabriel knew about angels. "You're not dying."

He scoffed. "Oh, right. Then how come you're hanging around my room all the time? I'm the only guy with his ass handing out of his dress. Unless..." He raised an eyebrow at Castiel, and a big grin grew on his features. "Could it be... the doctor?"

Castiel's eyes grew wide.

"Oh, ah. Sure," he laughed. "The doctor. Oh, he's pretty. Bit of a dick, but he is pretty."

"Who are you?"

Gabriel laughed again, pointing at Castiel. "This _is_ good. This is what they call... 'serendipitous.' Look that up in the dictionary, you'll see a picture of you and me. Thank you," he said to no one in particular, wiping at his eyes. He then sat up and took off the oxygen cannula from his face. "You ready to deal? Because I can answer all your questions friend."

Gabriel swindled him into taking him out of the hospital to get something to eat. So there they sat, angel and human, still in his hospital gown, ordering an impressively hearty breakfast for one in the middle of the night. The waiter brought out three plates, one with pancakes and strawberry syrup, the second with steak and a salad, and the last containing french fries and ranch dressing.

Gabriel was overjoyed, and asked the waiter, "How's the french toast this evening?"

"Fabulous," the waiter deadpanned.

Gabriel only smiled. "Well, set me up."

He hungrily speared a strawberry with his fork and put it in his mouth, groaning in pleasure. He then looked up at Castiel. Castiel realized he had been staring, though it didn't seem to phase the human. "Guess I should introduce myself," he said, holding out a hand.

Castiel continued to stare.

"Come on, give me your hand. Put it in mine, there you go." Castiel complied. "A little tighter. Tighter. There you go, yeah." Castiel grasped tighter and Gabriel flinched. "No, no. that's too much." He loosened his hand, and Gabriel smiled. "There you go. Good grip. Gabriel Messenger," he said. "Glutton, hedonist, former celestial body, recent addition to the human race."

Castiel narrowed his eyes. "I don't believe you."

"You want proof? You hang out in a library. You can speak every language. You travel with the speed of thought." _And you're reading my mind right now._

Castiel couldn't believe it. "Stop that."

"You're doing it."

"It's impossible."

"'Some things are true whether you believe them or not.'" He winked at him.

"How?"

"You choose."

"Choose?"

"To fall. To Earth." Gabriel made a falling motion with his hand. "You take the plunge, the tumble, the dive. You jump off a bridge. You leap out of a window. You just make up your mind to do it and you do it." He laughed, a wistful look in his eye. "You wake up all smelly, and aching from head to toe... and hungrier than you've ever been, only you have no idea what hunger is or any of that stuff... So it's—it's all real confusing and painful, but very, very good," he finished with a smile.

"Human," Castiel said, in wonder.

Gabriel hummed an affirmative. "Listen, kid. He gave these bozos the greatest gift in the universe. You think he didn't give it to us too?"

"Which gift?"

"Free will, brother. Free will."

Castiel was fascinated. If Castiel fell... if he fell, he could be with Dean. He could be with Dean like Dean deserved.

After Gabriel finished his gluttonous feast, he had Castiel take him to his construction site. They sat up, far above the city on a railing where one of the newest skyscrapers was being built. Gabriel gazed around blissfully, but Castiel found it hard to focus on anything that wasn't a way to be with Dean.

"What did you do when you fell?"

Gabriel shrugged. "Couldn't get a job. No past, no training. No I.D. Then one day, I was walking past a building site." He gestured around them, and then lit a cigarette. "A skyscraper. And I thought, 'I could to that.' You see, these people down here, a lot of 'em are afraid of heights, you know what I'm saying. That makes me uniquely qualified. And besides," he canted his head to the side, "it feels like a little bit of home up here. And I like what I do. I'm good at it."

Castiel reached for the cigarette, but Gabriel smacked his hand away. "Ah. These things'll kill you," but then he winked.

"Are there others?" Castiel asked.

"Others?"

"Others like you?"

He nodded, looking back out into the city. "Yeah, they're out there. You see them, but most of the time you just walk on by. Nobody likes to think of the old life. You know, what they gave up."

"Then why did you do it?"

Gabriel grinned, and pointed at him as if to say, 'wait there,' and took his wallet from the pocket of his hospital gown. He opened it up, and pointed at the pictures inside. "My daughter, Ruth, her stupid husband, Frank. And my grandkids, Petie's four, Hannah's six." Then he flipped the plastic frame over and pointed at a dark skinned beauty with the biggest, most beautiful smile on her face. "And this is my wife Kali."

He said all this with pride, and love. Deeper love than Castiel had ever felt in his entire life. He wanted that. He wanted that with Dean. "Did you..." Castiel began. "Did you tell her who you were?"

And Gabriel's smile drooped a bit. He licked his bottom lip. "I started to try once or twice. Then I thought, 'Why do that to her?'"

"Do what?"

Gabriel sighed, and shrugged again. "It's too much for them. People don't believe in us anymore." He took another drag of his cigarette, then put it out on the rail and tossed it down to the Earth.

Castiel watched it go.

Gabriel spoke again, gaining Castiel's attention once more. He sounded...sad. "Do they still gather together at sunrise."

"And sunset, yes."

And with a desperate kind of longing in his eyes, he asked, "Take me there?"

Castiel nodded and touched two fingers to Gabriel's forehead. They reappeared, standing on the beach, surrounded by a thousand angels, all watching the sun peak over the horizon. They walked up to stand near the lifeguard outpost. Gabriel obviously couldn't see the other angels, but they saw him. Most looked in confusion to Castiel, for they did not know what Gabriel was, but others just smiled, glad for someone to share the wonder of creation with them, whether Gabriel could hear it or not. Some even made themselves visible to the fallen angel.

Castiel looked over to Gabriel and was surprised to see tears rolling down his face. He asked, "Can you hear it?"

Gabriel sucked in a breath and closed his eyes, straining for something, but after a moment, he gave up and opened his eyes eyes again. "No."

Castiel smiled sadly at him, but then closed his own eyes, feeling the song of the host reverberating through his grace. It was each new day a miracle, and a wonder, and Castiel basked in it. Only when it was over, and the other angels were leaving, did Castiel open his eyes... only to find Gabriel gone.

He looked around and was understandably shocked to see Gabriel throwing off his gown and underwear, and running as fast as his healing body could into the ocean. A few of the other remaining angels laughed.

"I can't hear that," Gabriel was saying, "but you can't feel this!"

"Gabriel!" Castiel ran after him, following him into the water. Gabriel was already nearly fifty yards out, and swimming for all he was worth, which wasn't much for a fifty year old man. Castiel caught up to him easily. "You have to go back!" he shouted over the crash of waves.

Gabriel shook his head, smiling like a lunatic. "Not until I catch the big wave."

Castiel followed his gaze out to sea, and saw the one Gabriel was waiting for, nearly ten feet tall and heading right for them.

"Wait," Gabriel said, turning toward shore, but still looking back. "Wait."

"Wait for what?"

"Swim!" And he began paddling away from the wave. Castiel could do naught by follow. The wave caught up to them and picked them up, carrying them forward at a fast pace before it turned into a small tunnel and they crashed back into the water, Gabriel laughing all the way.

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

 

"Sammy!" Dean shouted as he opened his front door to the sight of his brother.

"I bring pizza and beer," Sam announced, holding up the offerings. "To make up for our missed lunch last week."

Dean beamed, "Well, how can I turn that down. Come on in." Dean held the door open wide and followed Sam to the living room. Lisa had already left for work, but Dean didn't have any cases that needed his immediate attention, so he'd taken the day off. Mr. Messenger, Dean was glad to mention, was well on his way to recovery.

"How's Lisa:" Sam asked, tossing his jacket over the back of the couch and sitting while Dean grabbed some plates from the kitchen.

"Oh..." Dean shut the cabinet door. "She's, uh... she's fine."

When he made it back to the living room, Sam was giving him a quizzical eyebrow. Dean liked to the call it the eyebrow of doom, because it never boded well for Dean. "What?" he said, placing his burden on the table next to the pizza boxes (Sam knew to bring two, because they both knew Sam could eat an entire pizza like an anaconda ate it's prey, by unhinging his jaw and swallowing it whole).

"Fine, huh? What's going on?"

"Nothing's going on," Dean refused to look at his brother, instead grabbing a slice of ham and pineapple and stuffing it in his mouth.

Dean felt Sam's sigh rather than heard it. "Look, Dean, if this is about that patient you lost-"

"It's not," Dean said, and he meant it.

"Well, then what?" He grabbed his own slice. "I know your evasive face."

Dean shrugged. "It's nothing. I – just... I met someone."

Both eyebrows shot up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah..."

"Okay. And does this someone have a name?"

Dean cleared his throat. He didn't know why he was uncomfortable telling Sam about this, but he figured if there was anyone he could talk to, it would be his brother. "His name's Castiel."

"Castiel? What the hell kind of name is Castiel?"

Dean jutted out the hand not currently holding food, as if to say, 'that's what I thought'. "But yeah," he continued, "he's cool. He's a buddy of one of my patient's."

Sam nodded. "And?"

"And what?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, okay. I get it, you met him. What happened? If we're talking about him, then there's something going on." Sam popped the lid off a beer and handed it to Dean. "Did you sleep with him?"

It took all of Dean's control not to do a spit take all over his coffee table. He glared at Sam, who's face sported a mischievous little brother grin.

Dean swallowed his beer and, coughing a little, stated firmly, "No, I didn't sleep with him."

"But you want to."

"Dude, I just met him, like, four days ago. We had dinner at the farmer's market, and then I took him to the pathology lab—"

"The pathology lab?" Sam asked in horrified confusion, but Dean ignored him, finishing his sentence.

"—and then I got beeped and he disappeared before I got back."

Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Something probably came up. That happens. I'm the one that got beeped right in the middle of our date."

Dean only realized what he'd said after it was too late and Sam's eyes had lit up. "So it _was_ a date?"

"Shut up."

Sam grinned like a petulant child. "So, you're going to see him again, then? Any plans?"

Dean shrugged. "Well, I don't really have a way of getting a hold of him. I just bumped into him at the library."

"You go to the library?"

"Shut up."

"Uh huh. And how does Lisa feel about this?"

"What do you mean? She doesn't care."

"Did you tell her?"

"Of course I told her. She didn't... care."

Sam was quiet for a moment, but then he slapped Dean on the back, grabbed the remote and said, "Well, I'm happy for you, Dean. Just don't fuck it up."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, thanks, man."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

"And then you just..." Balthazar asked, playfully swinging his legs over the edge of the shopping mall roof.

"Fall," Castiel replied.

"Fall?"

"Dive." Castiel grinned, the concept was mesmerizing. "You make up your mind to do it... and you do it."

"And when you wake up, you're...?"

Castiel nodded. "Yes."

"To smell the air."

"Taste water."

"Read a newspaper."

"To lie," Castiel said, filled with wonder.

"Through your teeth," Balthazar responded with a gleaming smile. And then he thought of another. "To feed the dog."

"Touch his face," Castiel almost whispered.

Balthazar studied him for a moment. "What are you waiting for?"

He sighed. "There is so much beauty up here."

"Yes."

o0o


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

  
  


The next time Dean saw Castiel was at the park. It was a warm day, only a few clouds in the sky, though he'd heard there was a chance of rain later on. Dean threw the ball for Rumsfeld, and there he was. Just standing there, the same trenchcoat and blue tie rustling in the breeze. Rumsfeld forewent the ball to go and attempt to lick the other man's face.

"Cas!" Dean called to him in surprise. "Here you are again. Can I call you Cas?"

He shrugged. Dean took that as a yes.

"We're releasing your friend Messenger tomorrow," Dean said, as he stopped in front of Cas.

"That's good."

Dean bit his lip nervously. "His family's having a – a kind of welcome home party. Will you be going?"

"Will you be going?" Cas asked, and Dean blushed. Looking down, for anything to distract the other man, Dean gestured at his dog. "This is Rumsfeld."

"He told me."

Dean smiled. "What else did he tell you?"

Cas looked to the dog as if he were listening intently, and then back up to Dean. "He worries that you never sleep. And he loves to see you smile."

Fair enough, Dean thought with a laugh. The dark circles must have been a dead give-away. "Sometimes I think Rumsfeld's the only one who understands me."

"What about your girlfriend? Do you love her?" Dean thought for a moment that he wasn't sure he'd mentioned anything about Lisa, but figured there was no other way Cas could have known about her.

"Love? I don't know." He shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. What does that mean?"

Castiel tilted his head, eyes soft. "I was hoping you could tell me."

"Well, it's a word," he began, "that describes a chemical react—" He sighed. "It's just crap. I'm full of crap." He stepped closer to Cas, less than a foot of space in between them, and said, "I – I wait all day, just hoping for one more minute with you... and I don't even know you." He studied Cas' face, those eyes, up close, were like daybreak after a night of nothing but rain. He could spend forever looking at them.

The eyes blinked. "What to you want to know?"

"Why do you wear the same clothes all the time? Why won't you give me your phone number?" Dean took a step back. "Are you married?"

"No."

"Are you homeless?"

Cas shook his head.

"Are you a drummer?"

Cas whispered out a laugh, and Dean grinned as well, but it faded quickly. "Why don't you ever touch me?"

The man's eyes took on a sorrowful look. "I don't want to hurt you," he said.

"You won't hurt me." And to prove it, Dean stepped forward again, closing the distance fully this time. He could hardly believe what he was doing, but when his lips touched Castiel's, he didn't care. His whole body tingled in excitement. Something like a spark tickled his lips and Dean retracted his head in surprise. "Did you feel that?" he asked. Dean looked at Cas, and was met with only a look of sadness.

"If I could make you understand..."

An awful trickle of disappointment dripped into Dean's gut. "I understand," he said. He turned to leave, picking up Rumsfeld's leash, and tugging him along. "I'll see you around.'

o0o

Dean went to Sam's. It was the second time in a week that one of them had showed up unannounced at the other's house. His brother answered the door, surprise on his face, which faded to concern when Dean held up a six pack.

They sat on the couch, and Sam turned on some football game that Dean pretended to watch for a few minutes while trying to think of what to say.

When he turned to Sam, his brother was looking at him intently. "What's up, Dean? Is this about Castiel?"

Dean sighed, ran a hand down his face. "How'd you know?"

"You've got that same stupid lovestruck look on your face as last time. Did something happen?"

Dean shrugged, "I don't know. I mean... it's stupid. Except it's really not. I just don't know a damn thing about him, but he's all I can think about. He's being secretive about something, I can tell. Any idiot could tell. And he keeps kind of showing up, like, really randomly. He showed up today at the park like he knew I'd be there, and I... well.... I kissed him."

Sam's eyes went wide. "Really? How'd that go?"

"Not good. He didn't really respond. And then..."

"And then?"

"And then, I may have yelled at him and ran away."

Sam just nodded. "Yup, that sounds like you."

"Shut up, Sam."

"So what are you gonna do?"

Dean ran his tongue over his teeth, giving himself a second to think. "Well, you know that patient, the one that Cas supposedly knows? He invited me to a get-together for his family, and I think Cas is going. I might..."

"Go?"

"Yeah?"

o0o

Dean drove to Gabriel's house, a nice, airy place by the ocean. He sat in his car for moment, debating whether he wanted to go through with it, and see Cas again. Eventually though, he got out, thinking that he was being stupid and remembering Sam's ridiculous concerned face, and wondering just when exactly he'd turned into such a teenager.

Gabriel spotted him from a distance, spoiling Dean's chances of turning around and escaping before he could be dragged in and made to socialize. "Hey, Doc!" he said, and came over to meet him at the edge of the yard.

Dean held out his hand for a shake, but Gabriel bypassed it and went for a hug. "No, give me the whole package. Come here."

"Hi," Dean said, awkwardly patting Gabriel on the back.

"Thanks for coming."

"You look great," Dean said, and he meant it. The man looked healthy and happy. He was practically floating.

He turned and opened his arms, showcasing the whole scene. Table's set up with food, adults and children alike smiling, running around and having a good time. The house sat on a small cliff, allowing it the most spectacular view of the ocean. It's perfect. "Is this heaven?" Gabriel asked.

Dean grinned. It was.

"Huh? Look at this." He looked at Dean. "Come on, let's meet some people. You got an appetite?"

Cas was there. Dean sat opposite him, drink in hand, but stayed silent, embarrassed at his outburst from before. Kali was more than happy to make small talk.

“Have a beer, Castiel,” she placed a cold one into his palm. He smiled shyly. “Where are you from?”

“Up.”

“North,” Gabriel filled in. “Uh, Canada.”

Dean started to ask from where, but was interrupted by a young girl, probably Gabriel's granddaughter plopping herself into Cas's lap. “Listen, can you hear?” she said. “I'm growing.”

“Smile, Hannah,” Kali said, lifting an old-fashioned camera to her face, the ones that spit out a Polaroid immediately after capture, and pressed a button. A photograph came out of the front.

Cas seemed preoccupied, so Dean switched tactics. “How long have you known Cas?” he asked Gabriel.

“Not very long. But I feel like I've known him forever.” Dean got the same feeling.

“Honey, that hurts,” said Kali. Hannah was pulling on Cas's nose. Cas didn't seem to care.

“You're just like Grandpa,” the girl said.

Attempting to distract her granddaughter, Kali said, “Come on. Let's see if the cookies are done.”

“Come on, Castiel!”

“Can I help?” Cas asked, polite as ever.

“Yeah, great.”

Dean turned back to Gabriel. “How did you two meet?”

“He works with me over at the construction site.”

“I thought he was a messenger?”

“Yeah, uh, he's one of those...” he looked off to the side, uncomfortable, “hyphenates.”

Dean nodded, the back of his neck growing hot. “I'll be right back.” He stood to go and get another drink, and to maybe ask Castiel some of these questions. He was getting a little tired of these half-truths.

Walking towards the cooler, Dean spots a Polaroid on a table picks it up. It is the picture that Kali just took of Castiel and her granddaughter, but where Cas should be is just whited out, as if beams of light were shooting out of where the man should be. What the hell?

Dean looks up to see Hannah run up and hug Castiel around the middle. “Castiel! Castiel!” she exclaims.

“Hey!” he smiles down at her, and then looks up at Dean.

Something strange was going on here. Castiel was keeping something from him. He was unclear about where he was from, never gave a last name. He knew that book from the library by heart, he was deathly afraid of blood and needles, he always just showed up randomly throughout Dean's day. And now the photo, which should have been a normal photo, but wasn't somehow because Cas was in it.  It was just too weird.

o0o

So, 'in typical Dean fashion' (as Sam would say) he brought Cas back to his house after the party. He was going to figure this out, and the best way was to get Cas alone in a place that he couldn't easily excuse himself.

Dean passed him a head of lettuce from the fridge. “Here, can you cut this up?” He was being deliberately obtuse, and he knew it.

Dean grabbed a knife out of the knife block, and Cas uncertainly did the same.

“So, what province is it in Canada where you were born?”

Cas cut the lettuce in half. “I wasn't born in Canada.”

Dean felt his ears grow hot. “What are your parents names?”

Cas accidentally sliced through the lettuce and cut into his own hand. Dean gaped, expecting blood, but nothing happened. It was as if it hadn't happened at all. But Dean knew better. “No parents,” Cas said.

“You have very delicate hands for a construction worker.” He was angry now. Cas looked up at him, eyes wide with apprehension.

“I'm not a construction worker.”

“Very pale hands. Let me see.” Dean grabbed Cas's hand and sliced his own knife through the fleshy part of his palm. Cas jerked his hand away and hid it behind his back.

“Why did you do that?”

“Let me see your hand.”

“No.” Cas grabbed a towel from the rack and covered his hand with it, hiding it from view.

“What's your last name?”

“You know my last name.”

“I don't.”

Cas looked around, panicked, and saw Dean's stove. “Novack.”

It was a Novack oven. “Castiel Novack?” Dean roughly grabbed the towel and threw it to the floor. He knew what he would see, but still wasn't prepared for it. “I cut you.” he stepped back in shock. “I cut you. I – I cut you with that... with that... knife. I _felt_ it go in. You felt it.”

“Not the way you do.” Castiel looked abashed.

“The way I do? What does that mean?” He was still reeling. “You mean the way a doctor does? What?”

“The way,” Cas said, something changing in his eyes, and Dean knew he was going to be honest now, “a human does.”

Dean slapped Castiel across the face. This is insane.

“I have no sense of touch.”

Dean slapped him again. “You feel that?” He was acting crazy, he knew, but this was crazy. It wasn't right. It wasn't real. He tried to hit him again, but Cas grabbed at his arms.

“You don't have to be frightened.”

Dean jumped back, flailing his arms to get Castiel to back off. “You freak! You liar! What... who... what _are_ you?” He felt tears forming in the back of his eyes.

Castiel stayed where he was. “I came to take Mr. Balford.”

Dean stopped and stared in horror. What? Is that what this was all about. The patient he couldn't save?

He continued, hands wide, calming. “And I saw you. I couldn't take my eyes off you. How you fought for him. And,” he paused, “and you looked right at me like I was a man.”

“To take Mr. Balford?”

“I was there. We're always there in every room.”

Dean stamped his foot like a child. “What are you talking about?”

“I'm an Angel of the Lord. I was there in the stairwell, when you cried for your patient. And I touched you. Remember?” the look in his eyes was desperate.

Tears finally spilling over, Dean demanded, “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I'm in love with you.”

“I don't believe you. Do you feel that?”

“You don't want to believe me.”

“I cannot conceive of it!”

Cas stepped forward, pleading. “Dean–”

“Just get out!” He turned around, away from that... that... “Get out!”

No reply, just silence. Dean turned back, to find the kitchen empty. He was gone. Dean fell into a chair and stared around him in disbelief, trying to work out just where he'd gone wrong.

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

Cas sat still, despondent.

He was in a busy hanger, on the wing of an airplane. Balthazar sat next him, a silent companion. He knew. Of course he knew. Castiel was radiating pain. Balthazar could feel it in the very core of his being, yet, he knew that Castiel's pain was his own. This was something he could not fix. So he did what he could. He placed a hand on his shoulder, and waited.

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

Dean didn't know what to do. He'd messed up so badly. He'd begged and demanded and shouted for Cas to tell him the truth, and then he did.

But what the hell? An angel. That was ridiculous. Like sure, it... it made sense, and that was what disturbed Dean the most. That it was true. He had the proof. It was just too much.

He sat at the farmer's market, where he and Cas had had their first... date. Could you date an Angel of the Lord? It didn't seem plausible.

If Dean could have laughed, he would. But instead, all that came out was a sob.

o0o


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

  
  


Dean woke the next morning to the sound of a lawnmower next door. The bright morning sun drifting carefully across his bedspread. He glanced over at his big alarm clock and saw that it said Saturday.

“Oh, yes!” he exclaimed. “Thank you.”

Finally a day off, one where he didn't have to worry about anything, not even Cas. He could just sleep and sleep and—

He sat up abruptly. _Why didn't he think of that before._

He practically flew out of bed and dragged on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, ran downstairs and took his bike straight to the hospital. Sam was on duty today. He knew that because Sam told him last week that he was taking the weekend shift for a friend.

Dean sprinted up the stairs instead of waiting on the elevator and burst onto the maternity floor. He found Sam in the nursery, going over a chart.

“Dean?” he asked, bewildered.

“Hey,” Dean says, out of breath. “The baby can't sleep!” Sam just stares. “Has anyone ever seen the baby sleep?”

They both look down at the abandoned baby, who was still crying.

Sam pulled his stethoscope from around his neck. “I don't know. Let's check him out.” Sam bent down and listened to the baby's nostrils, closing off on nostril at a time. “Choanal atresia,” he said, disbelieving. “There's hardly any air getting through.” He took the stethoscope out of his ears. “How did you know.”

Dean shrugged, hardly able to believe it himself. “I just... knew!” He grinned happily.

The baby was quickly taken into surgery, and Dean scrubbed in to watch his brother in action. It was a _rare_ deformity, and it was a damn miracle if Dean had ever seen one, him figuring it out. Which made Dean think.

Later, he was sitting in the men's locker room, by himself. Sam and the rest of the male staff having left already.

He was thinking about it still, staring up at the sky through the window, about the baby and about Cas and about God, when Lisa nudged the door open without looking in. “Dean?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

She opened the door the rest of the way with her hip, smirking down at him. “Pretty intuitive call on the baby.”

“Think so?” Dean asked.

She nodded proudly. “I couldn't have done it better.”

“Well, that's a compliment.”

Lisa sat down, serious, and stared Dean in the eyes.

Dean smiles uncomfortably. “What are you doing?”

“I'm spending time with you,” she said. Then, without warning, “Will you marry me?”

Dean stared back, speechless.

Undeterred, she continued. “We can finally get up to Tahoe. Get married on the Nevada side, honeymoon and be back before we miss a case.” When Dean still didn't answer, she placed a hand on his face, eyes soft, she said, “What do you want me to do? Get down on my knees? What do you want me to say? We belong together. We're the same species.” If she only knew. “I'm not... you know I'm not very good at matters of the heart. I mean... the proverbial heart. Please be my husband.”

Dean opened his mouth to say... something. At this point he didn't really know what.

Lisa shook her head. “Just think about it.” Then she stood up, and left.

 

Not knowing who else to turn to, and hoping against hope that maybe Gabriel already knew about Cas, the way he was covering for him, that's where he went.

He and Gabriel sat outside his house, at the same table from the party.

“I know,” Dean said, and Gabriel bowed his head. He knew too.

“How are you feeling?” Dean asked, looking down at the healing scar on Gabriel's chest, visible through his open shirt.

“Good.” He nodded.

“You should let me check you out. Just to be safe.”

Gabriel nodded, and stood up. Dean followed suit, taking his ever-present stethoscope from his pocket. He placed it on Gabriel's chest. “Breathe in.” He took a deep breath. “Breathe in,” Dean said again, changing position.

Gabriel, smiling, took Dean's hand, and placed it flat against his chest. “I'm good.” He then inclined his head towards Dean, indicating it was his turn.

Dean opened his mouth, faltered for a moment, and then before admitting defeat, “I don't understand a God who would let us meet, if there's no way we could ever be together.”

Gabriel's mouth flat-lined. “He didn't tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

He shook his head. “Maybe you should ask Castiel.”

“No. I'm asking you.” Dean gave him a hard look, demanding.

Resigned, Gabriel said, “Castiel knows no fear. No pain. No hunger. He hears music in the sunrise.” He stared Dean straight in the eye. “But he'd give it all up. He loves you that much.”

“I don't understand.”

He paused, shrugged. “He can fall. He can give up his existence, and he knows it. He can give up eternity and become one of us. It's up to you.”

Panic, fear, joy, anger, and just about every other emotion he could think of jolted Dean's heart, running through his veins at the thought. “How do you know this?”

“Because I did it.”

o0o

Dean went to the library. He knew Cas would be there. He had to be. He had to talk to him.

He made his way through the library. “Cas?” he said, looking into the isle they'd met in before. Nothing. He continued through the shelves, calling out quietly. “Cas, I need to talk to you.” Still nothing. “Cas please. Please be here.”

Dean understood. He wouldn't want to talk to him either. Leaning his head against one of the bookshelves, he whispered, “Oh God, help me through this.”

Then right in front of him, Castiel appeared, completely out of thin air, and Dean couldn't find it in him to be shocked. Instead he smiled. “You are so beautiful. You'll always be that way.” Cas stood still, quiet. “Lisa asked me to go away with her. And get married.”

The heartbreak on Castiel's face nearly cowed him, but he was determined to get through this. He had to. Had to make Cas see.

“She knows me. She knows the demands of my work.”

There was almost anger in Cas's eyes. Finally, a real human emotion. “You don't love her.”

“She and I are the same. And I want that.” Tears spilled out of his eyes without preamble. “And I want somebody who can feel my hand when I touch him.”

“But you can feel me,” Cas said forcefully. “You felt me.”

“I want to say goodbye. I don't want to see you again.” Please, God, let this be the right thing to do. Dean turned and left the library into the approaching twilight.

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

Castiel watched Dean leave, saw all the other angels watching him as well, from every corner of the building.

Almost immediately, he made his decision. He couldn't lose Dean, even if it mean losing everything he ever knew.

Without a thought, Castiel was standing on top of a skyscraper, the one he had taken Gabriel to before. It felt right. This, where he first knew, without a doubt, that he would do anything for Dean. He walked slowly up to the ledge and looked down, frightened for the first time in his existence. It was human. It was real, and he wanted more.

He raised his arms and closed his eyes, thinking that for the first time that it shouldn't always be that he was led in the right direction, but that he make the choice that is right for himself.

He jumped.

o0o

Flashes of light and sound bombarded Castiel's senses. Sun rays, jackhammer, police lights, men shouting. Castiel opened his eyes to see it was daytime and he was laying on his stomach on top of a rebar tier, looking down at three construction workers in hard hats and yellow vests, who are staring up at him with grins on their faces. He looked to the side and had to reach a hand out in front of him to block the harsh light. There was blood on his hand. He touched it, and found himself shocked by how much it hurt.

It hurt.

Someone whistled, a sharp sound that sent lightening strikes through his head. He heard multiple voices making a 'whoohoo' sing-song like sound from somewhere above him.

Castiel flipped over and dragged himself to his feet, laughing like a lunatic. He was human. He couldn't believe it!

A man a floor above him, looking down with his buddies, said, “Hey, buddy. You can't be in here.”

Castiel looked up at him, and the man looked right back. “Do you see me?” The man's eyebrows rose. “Can you see me?” he asked everyone.

One of them replied. “We can see you alright.”

Another said, “Yeah, your invisible drug wore off.”

He looked at his hand again. “Is this blood? This is blood!”

“Is it red?” Someone asked.

“Red?” Cas studied it harder. “Is it red? Color,” he said, showing it to the men, smiling wide.

“What color were the drugs you took?”

The first man who spoke to him, the one who seemed to be in charge, said, “Better get your butt out of here. You got somewhere to go?”

Yes, he does. He nodded at the man. “Dean.”

He looks down and around, not sure where he wants to go, but he knows who he wants to find.                   

He left the construction sight and started walking. Just headed in a direction and hoped.

He was alive. Really truly alive, and he had never been happier. He jumped up, spun, ran down the road, passing by two more construction workers setting up orange cones.

“ _Down and down and down I go_ ,” he sang without a tune. “ _Round and round and round I go. Round and spin_ ,” he jumped and twirled. “ _Loving the spin I'm in. Loving that old black magic called love_!”

“Hi!” he said to two Chinese women, passing under a bridge, clutching their shopping bags. “Hello. I was wondering if you could tell me how to get to the county hospital.”

They held tighter to their bags, and said something in Chinese. Castiel was taken aback. He couldn't understand her. Disappointed, he continued down the street, looking around for a familiar sight. Something that would take him where he needed to go.

He perked up. There, he heard something. A siren. He looked around and saw an ambulance crossing the bridge, and he took off after it. Where else would it be going but to a hospital.

He couldn't keep up with the vehicle, but he could hear where it disappeared to and kept running in the direction. It was just up above, he knew it. He recognized the buildings now. He ran faster, and finally, the hospital came into view. He made it right up to the front doors but stopped when he saw himself in the reflection of the glass doors. He looked awful. Not only was his hand still covered in blood, but there was a cut above his eyebrow, still leaking sluggishly.

He shook himself. He was being dumb. Dean was a doctor, he could fix it. He pushed through the doors, and went looking for someone he could ask. It wasn't until he saw the sign for the Maternity Ward that he found someone who might be able to help.

Her name tag said M. Masters, R.N. “Can I help you, Sir?” He remembered her.

Castiel bent over at the waist. “Let me just take a moment to catch my breath. Breath!” he exclaimed, and she scooted back just a bit. “Dean Winchester?” he asked. “Where can I find him?”

“Are you a patient?” she asked professionally.

“No. I just need to find him, please.”

She shook her head, reaching for the ringing phone, but not picking it up. “You'll have to call his office. Someone there can help you.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“No, Sir. I do not know where he is.”

Castiel looked around the desk. “Well, you have this computer, and all this technology. Can't you just look him up? Sam!” he shouted, seeing the man come around the corner and into the nurses' station. “Where's Dean?”

“Do I—are you okay?” Sam asked, stepping closer and inspecting Castiel's forehead. He glanced down at the nurse. “I'll get him cleaned up.”

She nodded, placing the receiver to her ear, still looking at him with confusion.

Sam took him to an exam room and closed the door. Castiel knew that Sam would take him to Dean eventually, and that perhaps he should have his wounds taken care of. They were constantly aching, throbbing like he'd never known before.

He was sat down in a chair and Sam took the stool in front of him, grabbing some supplies from a drawer. “So you're a friend of Dean's? Wait, you're Castiel aren't you?”

Castiel nodded.

“What happened to you?” he asked, swiping an alcohol swab across Castiel's forehead. Castiel jumped, the chair making a loud squeaking noise. “Oh, sorry,” Sam said. “It's okay,” he reassured him, “I'm trying to help.”

“I fell,” Castiel answered.

Sam chuckled. “Off a train?”

“I fell in love.”

Sam's mouth fell open. He looked a lot like Dean.

“Please help me find him,” he begged. “Please.”

After a moment, Sam came back to himself, and took mercy on Castiel. “He went to Lake Tahoe. Our uncle,” Bobby Singer, Castiel remember, having gleaned the information from Dean once before, “has a cabin on the Nevada side. Wait!” he called out as Castiel took off out the door. He had to get to him before... he couldn't even fathom what would happen if he was too late. He had to show Dean that he was human. That he did it for him.

Outside of the hospital he saw a bus, and went to get on, but then he noticed how everybody held either a card or money in their hands, of which he had neither. He watched in despair as all the patrons got on the bus and it drove away.

He could hitchhike. Surely someone would take pity on him. He began walking, looking for someone to ask. Hours later, Castiel found himself standing next to a strip club set up next to a truck stop. _Nudes! Nudes! Nudes!_ it proclaimed. He stood in front of a bus stop bench and held out his thumb like he'd seen people do before, swaying on his feet. He'd never felt so hopeless.

“Balthazar?” he asked, wishing for his companion's presence right now. “Are you there?”

A car pulled up on the curb honked it's horn. Castiel approached the window and said, “Hello,” and immediately was punched in the face. The four guys in the car jumped out and knocked him down, search his pockets for money. Upon finding none, they pulled off his shoes, and the car screeched away.

Hours later, he was still standing there with his thumb out, barefoot now, and in pouring rain. He swayed and almost fell. Catching himself, Castiel sat down on the bench.

Just as he began to lose hope, a large semi truck stopped in the street in front of him. The window rolled down and an old beagle stuck his head out. Castiel stood.

A voice called out from the drivers side. “Where you headed?”

“Tahoe!”

A man leaned over and pushed the dog out of the way. He had a big smile and a kind face. “Reno,” he says.

“Tahoe!” Castiel said again, thinking the man misunderstood him.

“I'm going to Reno.”

“I'm going to Tahoe.”

The man smiled wider. “Hop in. We'll figure it out when we get there.”

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

Balthazar sat on the bench where Castiel had just been, and grinned softly. The truck driver hadn't taken much convincing.

o0o


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

  
  


Castiel woke easily from his slumber, to the sound of a semi's engine shifting down. “Tahoe,” the driver said. “Here you go.” The man held out a hand with another smile. It had money in it.

Castiel started to protest, but the man pressed it into his hand. “Just take it. You look like you could use a sandwich. Just... good luck with whatever it is you're doing here.”

“Thank you.”

He stepped down out of the semi and waved as the man drove off. It was still raining a little. He missed now more than ever his angel powers. He was so close, but it would have been so much easier if he could just disappear into the wind and find Dean in an instant. He looked around, saw a big sign in the shape of a ten-foot-tall number seven and the words 'High Hopes Wedding Chapel—Open 24 hours—Weddings Hourly' underneath. Unwilling to believe that he was too late, Castiel continued his study of the surrounding area, gaze landing on a phone booth. There was a large, plastic-bound phone book handing underneath it by a chain, the pages wrinkled from the repeated exposure of rain and sun.

He stumbled over and picked up the book, going to the S's and searching for Robert.

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

Bobby's cabin was right next to the lake, so close, that the back porch was actually just a dock. Dean sat in a big recliner pulled up next to the bay window, watching the rain hit the water. He jumped when his dog, Rumsfeld, barked loudly. He stood from the rug and ran to the door, scratching at it, frantically trying to get out.

Dean, clad in pajamas, stood up and went over. “What's wrong, boy? There something out there?” He opened the door and stopped breathing, because on the other side was Castiel looking dead on his feet, cuts on his hand, lip and eyebrow. His eyes were barely open and steam came off his body in tendrils and he looked more human than Dean had ever seen him. But Cas was smiling.

“Hello, Dean,” he said, and passed out.

Dean barely caught him before he hit the ground, and got his own clothes wet dragging him inside and out of the freezing rain. He slipped easily into doctor mode, leaving Cas lying on the floor by the lit fireplace while he sprinted off to the bathroom to grab towels and blankets. When he got back, he stripped Cas out of his wet jacket and suit and wraped him in everything he had, including his own robe and discarded jacket from earlier. He placed a throw pillow under Cas's head and went to get a bowl of water and a rag to clean Cas's wounds.

He laid down next to Cas without disturbing his cocoon of blankets and attempted to clean the cuts on his face. _What happened to you?_ he thought.

Cas was an angel. He wasn't supposed to get hurt and he wasn't supposed to feel, but here he was, obviously having walked a long way to get here instead of flying or whatever, and he was sick and he was hurt and Dean stared at the cut on Castiel's lip, running his finger carefully over it, trying not to cry. He knew what Castiel had done and yes, Dean did ask him to do it, but he didn't know that this would happen. He didn't know that so much pain was involved. Why did he ask him to do this?

He started when Cas stirred and opened those gorgeous blue eyes, and it made him want to cry even more because they were looking at him with so much hope and love and Dean wanted to break down right then and there. Then Cas spoke.

“Am I too late?”

“Too late?” he whispered.

“Lisa?”

Dean smiled what he hoped was reassuring, and stroked Cas's face just above the cut on his eyebrow. “I couldn't marry Lisa. I'm in love with you.”

Cas's eyes lit up and he smiled at Dean, like in all his existence, he'd never ever been happier.

Dean felt a tear slip out, and he shook his head. “What happened?” he sobbed.

“Free will.” Cas reached up and cupped Dean's face so tenderly that Dean could barely stand it, because he knew that Cas could finally feel him. He reached up and covered the hand with his own. “I feel you,” Cas whispered.

Slowly, Dean leaned forward, closing the barely three inches distance between them and kissed him softly on the lips, trying to make it worth it because, he thought, it was Castiel's first _real_ kiss.

He was still so cold. Hypothermia, exposure. Dean knew what would help. He pulled off his pajamas and slipped into the blankets beside Castiel, relishing in the way their skin felt sliding together. He pulled Cas to him, and wrapped him tight in his arms. “Do you feel that?” he asked quietly.

“Yes.”

Dean carded a hand through his hair and down the back of his neck. “And that?”

Cas nodded, his hum of contentment rumbling through Dean's ribcage. Dean felt as Castiel's arousal became evident, and was so awed, he could barely contain it.

“How's it feel? Tell me what it feels like.”

“I can't.”

“Try,” Dean prodded.

Swallowing thickly, he answered. “Warm. Aching.”

“It's okay,” Dean murmured. “I'm here.”

They fell asleep by the fire, wrapped in each other.

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

Castiel woke easily the next morning. His head lay warm on Dean's chest, and he delighted in it, listening to the heart that beat strong inside. The fire had gone out during the night, and the lingering scent of pine washed over him as he lay blinking in the daylight. This felt right. Dean was there, and Castiel was _alive_ for the first time ever.

He breathed in the scent of Dean and ran a hand across his stomach, reveling in the feeling, skin to skin, the way lovers have done since the beginning of humanity.

A slight hitch in Dean's breathing marked his waking up. He gripped Castiel tighter in his early morning haze, and then stiffened. “Cas?”

Castiel looked up into his eyes. “Dean.”

Dean grabbed his face and kissed him, and Castiel could barely think, he was so happy. He moved his lips the way that Dean did, and found the rhythm soothing, not even caring the way it pulled at his wounded lip.

Dean pulled back, staring into his eyes. “Cas, I—I just—”

“I know,” he replied, and leaned back in.

After a moment, Castiel lay his head back on Dean's chest, still absolutely exhausted from his trials. Dean held on like he would never let go. “You know," he said, "I always asked the dying what they liked best about living. Wrote it down in my little book.” Dean sighed, kissing him on the top of the head. “This is it. This is what I like best.”

Dean let out a quiet laugh. “Boy, you haven't even started yet. We have our whole lives together.” He sounded like nothing else would make him happier. “You and me. Mr. and Mr. Novack.” They both laughed.

o0o

Castiel turned on the shower like he'd seen humans do, but before he got in, he decided to investigate some of the bottles of stuff in the bathroom. His sniffed something in a pink glass bottle, and was surprised by how good it smelled, and amazed at how humans would think of such a thing, soap that smells nice. He then selected another bottle, and put it to his nose, depressing the sprayer and getting a face full of cologne. He sputtered for a moment, coughing, but then put the bottle down and stepped into the shower.

And oh goodness, it was so hot. He jumped back with a shout, his scalded skin tingling. Upon further inspection of the knob, he discovered the cold water and adjusted the temperature.

Stepping under the spray was like magic, the warm water relaxing his sore muscles, and washing away all the sweat and blood and dirt down the drain. He felt better instantly as he rolled his neck and scrubbed at his hair. He didn't know which bottle was the soap, but he used them all anyway.

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

Dean was in the kitchen setting it up for breakfast, but couldn't seem decide on the place mats. First, he set them on opposite sides of the table, then shook his head and put them on the same side, then closer together, so they're overlapping on the edges, and him and Cas will basically have to sit in each other's laps.

He heard Cas screech like a pterodactyl from upstairs, but that wasn't a pained screech, just shocked. He breathed out a laugh, unable to keep a smile from his face.

He went about getting out the ingredients out for every breakfast food he could think of, but soon realized that there was no syrup to be found in the entire kitchen. And that just wouldn't do, not having waffles for his first breakfast ever. “Damn,” he said quietly, thinking. That little store in town was only about a ten minute bike ride from the cabin. And Cas had been in the bathroom for almost twenty minutes before he heard the water even turn on, and it was another ten before the screech, so he figured he had time to pop in and be back before he was done, while the former angel figured things out.

Dean sprinted outside and jumped on his bike, wallet and backpack in hand. He made it all the way to the little store in record time and picked out the most expensive bottle he could find. The cashier looked at him like he was crazy, all sweaty and excited, but did the transaction quickly, and Dean stepped outside. He sat down on the steps to place the small bottle into the interior of the backpack, pausing just a moment to just bask in his happiness. Cas was here.

He got back on his bike and set off, enjoying the freedom and the fresh air.

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

Cas found the clothes that Dean had left out for him outside the bathroom and put them on. An old pair of jeans and a plaid shirt that smelled like Dean. He came down into the kitchen and saw the place mats on the table, the bowls of fruit and bread and eggs and bacon on the counter. A bowl full of batter sat in front of the open waffle maker, abandoned. Dean had made all of this for him. Castiel suddenly realized that this was what hunger felt like, but he waited, knowing Dean would be back in just a moment, from wherever it was he went, because Dean had been there for every first that mattered, and he should be there for every last damn one of them.

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

Dean was only about five minutes away, riding swiftly down the long road that went out to the cabin. There were woods all around him, and he could see the lake in the distance, surrounded by glorious mountains on both sides. It was so beautiful.

He could cry with his happiness. Cas was here. Cas was human, and he was waiting on Dean in that cabin. And he would always be there. Dean looked up at the sky. He would cook Cas breakfast and lunch and dinner, and maybe he'd even let Cas try his hand at cooking, he might like it. And— Dean looked back down at the road, and everything got suddenly quiet. There was a semi pulling on the road right in front of him, probably didn't even see Dean, and there was nothing he could do, no time to turn, no time to stop. He crashed into the side and everything went black.

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

Without warning, Castiel feel his heart go cold, what could only be dread pooling in his gut. He stood from the table, feeling panicked, and went outside.

 _Something's wrong, something's wrong_ , drummed in his head. _Dean? What's wrong?_

No thought, no planning, Castiel took off into the woods. He didn't know where it was he was going, but he let go and trusted that he wouldn't be led astray. He ran, faster and faster. After a few minutes, he found himself at a road. There was a truck there, similar to, but not the same one that brought him here to Dean.

It was parked perpendicular across the road. There were road flares on the ground and Cas just knew that Dean was on the other side. He ground to a halt. _Dean,_ he though, hoping and praying that he was wrong because he has to be wrong. This couldn't be happening.

Even human, Castiel recognized aura of death and knew instantly what was happening. Spurned on, he ran around the truck and saw Dean laying on his back, head on his backpack and an overlarge coat covering his midsection like a blanket. His eyes were closed, but maybe he was still alive.

Castiel fell to his knee beside Dean and Dean opened his eyes before Cas could even touch him. He gasped for breath.

“Dean?” Castiel sputtered out.

It took an eternity for recognition to kick in, Dean's green eyes glassy and lost. “Cas,” his voice shook.

Castiel's eyes filled instantly, and he said, “I'll get help,” because this couldn't be it. Dean couldn't die. Not when they had so much time not spent together.

Dean managed to shake his head. “You're here. Stay.”

He knew Dean was gone, but he refused to accept it. “I—I should get help.”

“No,” Dean pleaded with him, he grabbed for his hand, and Castiel let him. “No, don't go. The driver went. Please stay with— Please stay with me.” Dean's own eyes spilled over as he looked up at Castiel. “I'm scared.” He swallowed hard. “I screwed up.”

“No.” His heart was breaking.

“I wanted to show you everything.”

“You will.”

“You came all this way. I'm sorry.”

“No!” Castiel sobbed. “Oh God, no, Dean. To touch you, and to feel you.. To be able to hold your hand right now. You know what that means to me? Do you—do you know how much I love you?” He couldn't take it.

Dean's gaze slipped past him, but Castiel got in his line of sight. “Keep looking at me, okay? Look right in my eyes.”

“Someone's out there,” Dean said.

“Dean! Don't look at them. Please, Dean, no. Don't you look at them!” he ground out.

Dean was about to die. His eyes were unfocused, and his voice quiet. “Is this what happens?” he asked.

Unable to deny it any longer, Cas whispered. “Yes. This is what happens.”

“I'm not afraid.” He smiled, looking back at Castiel. “When they ask me what I liked best... I'll tell them it was you.”

Dean was staring at him right in the eyes when he went, face going blank.

“No,” Cas cried out weakly, picking Dean up and holding him in his arms. “God, no.”

o0o


	9. Epilogue

Epilogue

  
  


Castiel met Sam at the funeral. Properly this time. Sam, Dean's only family left in the world, just cried. It was never-ending, his love and devotion to his brother, Castiel could see it in the pain in his eyes.

“I just miss him so much,” he sobbed, holding tightly to Cas's hand. They were at Sam's house. There were people milling about, somber looks on their faces. Castiel had seen Lisa earlier, and she smiled at him, a sad smile that knew. Castiel was the one for Dean. He nodded back to her. She was a good person.

Sam looked up at Castiel then. He knew as well, how Dean had felt. He was the one he'd confided in. “Can I ask you a question?” he asked. Castiel nodded. “Was he happy... at the end?”

Castiel could do nothing but smile and nod.

Sam broke down crying again, and hugged him. And Cas hugged back, though he had no more tears left to shed, for Sam was the only bit of Dean he'd ever get to see again for as long as he lived.

o0o

After that, Cas went to Gabriel, who took him in and gave him a job.

That night, as they sat in the back yard while the kids played, Castiel looked at him, and he looked back. Neither knew what to say.

When he felt up to it, Castiel went everywhere that reminded him of Dean. He went to the farmers market and bought as many pears as he could carry, and Gabriel didn't say anything when he brought them all home.

He was alone one night, about a week after it happened, Gabriel and Kali having gone to visit family, when Castiel felt a familiar presence.

He said, “I can't see you, but I know you're there.”

Balthazar made himself visible in the corner of the room. “I'm sorry.”

“Get out.”

“Castiel— ”

“Was it you?” Castiel stood, anger radiating from his bones. “Were you the one? Were you there?”

“No.”

At the answer, the fight left him. “Why did He do this?” Castiel asked, and fell back into his chair.

Balthazar stood motionless, hands in his pockets. “I don't know.”

“But why? Because his number was up?”

“What do you want me to say?” his former companion questioned softly.

“...Am I being punished?” Castiel wanted to know.

“You know better than that.” He took a step forward, and then stopped. “That's life. You're living now. And one day... _you'll_ be dying.” He stood quiet for a moment. “What's it like?”

“What? ”

“Warmth.”

Castiel sat up straighter, gazing at the angel. “It's wonderful.”

Unabashedly curious, Balthazar asked, “If you'd known this was going to happen, would you have done it?”

His answer required no thought. “I would rather have had one breath of his hair,

"one kiss of his mouth,

"one touch of his hand,

"than an eternity without it.

“One.”

 

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

 

Castiel didn't need to ask. Balthazar knew. He offered his hand, and Castiel stood.

Balthazar took his friend, his constant companion throughout all of time, to the beach where they gathered. Castiel stepped away from him, looking at at the brilliant sky, and Balthazar closed his eyes, basking in the glory. When he opened them again, Castiel was running full pelt into the water, the first smile on his face in a week.

All the others looked on in wonder, happy for their departed fellow's new found joy.

Balthazar couldn't help himself. He laughed.

  
  


_fin_


End file.
